Somebody's Problem
by ForFutureReference
Summary: Ned was satisfied being a scientist in Three. Then the Rebellion happened and Paylor became president. Now he finds himself in school at the Capitol and dealing with a Career-built nebbish from Two as a roommate. Did I mention the upheavals affecting the nation? Shenanigans ensue. A look into Reconstruction-era Panem society.
1. Prologue: The Viper and the Wolf

"Ladies first."

The inevitable sigh escapes my lungs at the Capitolite announcer's statement, and I have to resist the urge to slouch while standing in line with the other male candidates.

They're seriously milking the theatrics as much as possible. I guess in the end, the legacy of the Games permeates everything here in Panem, even though almost three years have passed since they've officially been abolished. Granted, at least the dizzy bint didn't start the ceremony off with that whole "odds being in your favor" phrase; that would have probably pushed things into the farcical. Well… more farcical than they already are.

Also, instead of rummaging around for slips in some reaping bowl, she instead takes out an embossed envelop and opens it to read out the name of the lucky winner:

"Charlene Russell."

Everybody gives the girl a polite congratulatory applause as she walks up the central aisle to reach the steps of the Tower. I don't remember seeing her on the on the ride here, and there's little-to-no reason for any self-respecting resident of Central to be a participant, which must mean that she's from the earthquake-ravaged hellhole that's East City; seriously, almost half a century has passed since the Great Quake and they still haven't got their shit together.

Anyways, the applause and the thinly-veiled expression of accomplishment on the girl's face is probably the main thing that differentiates this from a reaping. Because instead of being randomly picked for an event where a bunch of kids run around and die pathetically like the idiots they are — barring that last one, but the less said about it the better — the kids in this ceremony are purposefully chosen for the chance to go to school under the Paylor Reconstruction Ordinance. Apparently, our president wants to "create a strong foundation to build upon a better tomorrow" or something along those lines. So last year, under that philosophy, she announced the PRO plan which contains a patchwork of different government projects that are supposed to get this nation all prosperous 'n' shit. Anyways, one of the programs is one that will send a guy and girl from each district to study, free of charge, at the University of Panem in the Capitol; the idea being that it would train new leaders for the future.

I'm actually more than capable to affording both the tuition, travel, and living expenses — I mean for nice living quarters; not some morphling-ridden tenement in District Town — but my folks knew that there was no way I was going to waste money going to some liberal arts program where I'd be surrounded by limp-wristed Capitolites and resentful district kids with lofty notions in those added minds of theirs. I don't want to be in the Capitol; I want to be here in Central, but that's still not a possibility right now even though I'm legally an adult. So when this program was announced, Ma and Pa made a deal with me: if I entered into this contest and at least became a prospective candidate, they'd try to pull some strings to allow me to return; if I somehow win, then there should be no reason I couldn't return after I finish with everything.

So I agreed to their terms and applied; better than pouring over the genetic information of random agricultural products. After applying, I had to take a comprehensive test which served as a screening tool. There were the usual math, science, literacy, and conceptual questions — a bit on the steep side of the learning curve, but nothing out of the ordinary — but the biggest part of the test contained the subject of civics. Fortunately, they allowed ample time to study beforehand. And lo and behold, I passed, which made me a prospective candidate. From there, background info of the candidates gets sent to the committee so that they can decide on who they deem worthy to attend the program.

That last "background check" part is why I'm more than sure they're _not_ going to pick me.

"And now, for the boys."

_Yeah yeah yeah… let's get this over with so I can go back ho— _

"Edwen Bannon."

_-me? Wait, what._

To say that I'm floored would be an understatement. I mean, I know that I'm smart enough to get in but I also know that my background should have been considered a liability in the decision-making process; not to mention that it seems a bit unfair to pick the one guy who is actually able to afford this.

_What the hell were these people taking when they chose me?_

The announcer calling my name again shakes me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see that, to my abject mortification, the cameras have already focused on me and are projecting my wide-eyed and slackjawed visage for the crowds — not to mention those watching the nationwide broadcast — to see. Great, now I look as mentally-deficient as the mouth-breathing chuckleheads surrounding me.

After quickly clamping my mouth shut and adopting an expression of professional impassiveness, my previous bemusement is carefully smoothed away by me casually straightening my vest before I begin my walk to the center aisle. As I do so, the usual polite applause comes from the rest of the kids and their families, though those who do recognize me aren't bothering to hide their contempt. However, behind them, an uproarious cheer goes up from the crowd at the perimeter — something they didn't do for Russell, which confirms where she's from — and I can't help but grin and wave a bit. While I may no longer reside in Central, everybody here so far treats me as if I haven't left in the first place; then again it's not like I left by choice, no thanks to the damn Rebellion.

Oh well… there's no point dwelling over the past when there's stuff to do now.

I take a look forward to see the people standing at the top of the steps. Besides the program representatives, there are the winners from Districts Eight, Twelve, and Eleven — Three's the last district for this section — as well as the governor of District Three, who has come down from the new capital city about fifty miles north of us; the place is still under refurbishment, which probably explains why we are having the ceremony here and not there. And then there are Central's officials: Mayor Charlton, Provost Lewis, Secretary Beetee — as the new department head, he has moved the Department of Science and Technology from the Capitol to here; it's fitting in my opinion — and of course, probably the scariest woman here in Panem, Commander Porus.

As I walk up, the officials are all applauding as well, and the ones from Central actually have smiles on their faces; well, except for the Commandant, but that's a given. Suddenly a look of confusion appears on the outsider officials' faces, the smiles turn to exasperation on the Central officials, and the Commandant pinching the bridge of her nose. When Beetee starts rapidly beckoning for me to hurry up, I comply but give him a questioning expression; he motions to one of the screens, and that's when I see a certain CMY-haired bastard striding purposefully on my trail and rapidly shortening the distance between us.

_Sonuva…_

Before I can pick up my pace, I'm lifted off the ground and thrown across a set of shoulders.

As I'm carried the rest of the way, I growl, "Luce, what the fu—"

"Language, Ned," the corpsman chides in that infuriatingly chirpy manner of his. "This is still being broadcasted; don't want to make yourself look bad, do you?"

"You are doing a good job of it yourself. I hope you get an NJP for this."

"Off-duty and out-of-uniform," he counters.

"Officially maybe. Unofficially, don't you still live in the same household as the Commandant?" AKA his mother; I suspect that he's not too old to get grounded or at least lectured to, which is a lot worse than it sounds when the person lecturing is taken into account. She's probably not too thrilled about the fact that Three, or at least Central, is probably becoming the laughing stock of Panem.

Luce's freckles are thrown into contrast as his face pales ever so slightly, but he casually states, "Worth it. Fact."

I sigh in response before noticing something: "Hmm… you're actually looking pretty sharp right now, and your cap's missing. _She_ dressed you, didn't she."

"Thanks, but what makes you say that?"

"Because we both know that if fashion sense was tied to combat capability, you'd lose a fight against a snowflake… in summertime. Joe ain't any better, and you _are_ old enough that the Commandant ain't going to be dressing you anytime soon. That only leaves the Bi—"

"Hold that thought for a moment, Ned," Luce interjects. "You know that I'm always one to respect your opinion. Just keep in mind that Lucy _is_ still my sister and you _are_ within my grasp."

Despite the friendly tone, I recognize a warning when I hear it. Sometimes it's easy to forget that this guy is capable of killing a person with his bare hands in more ways than I can count and that he can also inflict nonlethal-yet-excruciating bodily harm in just as many ways. "Well… you get the idea. So… is there a reason you actually decided to rock the smart casual look?"

"Ain't it obvious?" When I don't respond, he huffs slightly. "We knew that you'd win. So making sure that you have a memorable entrance is the least that we could do, and it helps to looks good while doing it."

"It seems that I'm the only one who reckons it's weird that I got chos—aah!"

We must have reach our destination as Luce immediately lets go, which causes me to tumble down his back. Fortunately, he's done this more than a few times in the past, so I know how to hit the ground in a way that not only prevents injury but also keeps my clothes from being scuffed.

However, while I stand back up, my attempt at salvaging any remnant of my dignity is short-lived as a torrent of ice water cascades over me. After the initial shock, I turn around and push back my now-soaking hair to look upon a grinning Joe and Brue — both also dressed fairly decently — holding a now-empty cooler between them. All of the outsiders in the crowd appear to be frozen in shock while those from Central have increased the volumes of their cheers; the officials just look resigned.

All three of the guys give me congratulatory pats on the back and tousle my hair before they quickly scurry off when the Commandant sends a scowl in their direction. Thing is, their version of a congratulations may have been on the… excessive side, but I can't say I'm not pleased to see them again. In general, it's good to be back, if only for a short while. If the outsiders have a problem with this display, they can go suck eggs and pound sand.

While still in a dripping state, I accept congratulations from the officials in a more professional manner, though the ones from Central also pat me on the back. I could be imagining it, but I swear that I even see a hint of a smile on the Commandant's face.

My future classmates are less amicable; all seven of them are looking at me with thinly veiled contempt and disdain. As we shake hands, I bare my teeth in a technical smile and, without visibly moving my lips, say, "Hey guys! Do I know any of you?" A slight check verifies that sound is not being broadcasted. _Good._

Russell decides to speak for the group. "No…"

At her answer, I make sure they all get a good look at my face and eyes before stating about how much I really care what they think:

"Then fuck off."

Disdain is replaced by shock as they focus more on looking presentable for the cameras, which I also turn to smile for.

Who says I can't be diplomatic?

~oOo~

After the ceremony, the trip to the Capitol is pretty uneventful. Before the train left, we were allowed to mingle around; so most of the wait was spent with Ma fretting over me while Pa wished the best of luck. Of course both of them also warned me to stay out of trouble as much as I can since the Capitol is a media haven and, unlike West City, isn't a place where they can keep me out of the spotlight if I get caught doing anything risky. In all honesty, I already knew that and planned on keeping a low profile anyways; the last thing I want is to be the source of a smear campaign on the company. But, I allowed them to voice their concerns; after all, they may be a bit overbearing sometimes but still are my folks. The guys also managed to catch me right before I left — sure enough, all three were chewed-out by the Commandant before they were free to go — and gave me a couple gifts to liven up wherever I'm going to be staying.

The train itself is actually a refurbished tribute train, with most of the amenities still intact; though from what I've been told, the food we're provided is a lot more low-key than what was provided for Games tributes. Two other trains are tasked with bringing winners to the Capitol: one goes through Ten, Five, and the former Career districts, while the other's in charge of Thirteen, Six, Seven, and Nine. They apparently carefully staged the ceremony schedules to have everybody arrive at around the same time.

Most of the time, I keep to myself expect for whenever it comes time to eat, and the others don't really bother interacting with me in turn. The only two who seemed to have already gotten over the initial shock of my introduction to them are the cousins from Eight: Natt and Danni Jolson. Then again, if the marks on their bodies are any indication, they have probably seen and experienced more than the other kids. Also, it doesn't mean that they've stopped giving me resentful glances.

In the meantime, while it won't be until we reach the Capitol when we receive the majority of the specific information pertaining to the program, a sheet goes around which shows who we are going to be paired with as roommates. Funnily enough, all that's provided is a name; no picture; no district. Presumably, the whole idea is for everybody to have no preconceptions about who they room with. Of course, the fact that you can watch the reapi— I mean acceptance ceremonies sort of negates that. Granted, I haven't watched them and can't be assed to watch the replays, so I'll be going in blind.

_Edwen Bannon_

_Diocletian Cohen_

Or not.

They may not state what district the guy comes from, but I've been around enough Guardians— excuse me, _Marines_, as they have rebranded themselves post-Rebellion; a bit ironic considering Central's location, but whatever — to peg a name as being Two-ish. If so, this may be interesting; I wonder if he comes from a Peacekeeper-slash-Career or geological-slash-industrial background. Probably the latter since, last I heard, the majority of those loyal to Snow's regime fled the country to settle north of the Hadean Wastes — Paylor's currently in negotiations with them with the hope that they come back into the fold; at the very least, things seem to be civil enough that they're trading with us — and almost all of the kids who were training to be Careers have mysteriously disappeared for some reason.

In any case, all I'm hoping for is that this "Diocletian" won't be some preachy pain in the ass like many kids have become after the Rebellion. I also hope that he's within half-a-foot of me.

It's not long before the train is plunged into darkness, which must mean that we're getting close. When we finally reemerge from the mountain tunnel, the majority of the kids run to the widow to peer outside with expressions of curiosity. The only ones who haven't moved from our spots are me and the duo from Eight; I'm sure they've been here before and not just as the average visitor. In my case, I've already visited once as well but only right after the double-demise of Paylor's immediate predecessors, and it was via aircraft instead of train; also I'm right by the window already so I don't have to exert myself to take a look outside.

By now, they've cleaned up all the debris from the war, and much of the city has been renovated and rebuilt already. The buildings are definitely not as ridiculously gaudy and impractical as they used to be, but the place is still more ostentatious than the rest of the nation. Even with the redistribution in effect, I guess that some things still never change.

As the train pulls into the station, I can see that the other two have just made it as well; their passengers are already disembarking. After gathering our stuff, we end up doing the same and join our interdistrict compatriots in the main hall. Here, everybody is told to find their roommate and buddy-up with them to get to know each other. Everybody else had to have seen the footage as the process goes pretty smoothly, though Natt doesn't seem too thrilled at being paired with the guy from One; I forgot if the male's Opal and the female's Velvet, or if it's the other way around. In due time, everybody's paired up… except for me.

_Where the hell is that guy?_

After a couple minutes of looking around and making sure that it wasn't just a case of us missing each other, I decide to turn around and head back to the train platform.

_Welp, this was a waste of my ti— _

I barely get to take a step forward when I collide face-first into what feels like a brick wall — or maybe it collided with me — and get knocked backwards to the ground.

"Aah! Oh man, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" To his credit, the guy does sound genuinely distressed. Also, judging from the young Two-ish accent, I think I just found my roommate. "Here, let me help you up."

Normally, I'm one to help myself up, but I'm too busy massaging my nose to object as I'm lifted to my feet. "Thanks." After making sure everything's accounted for, I finally take a look at the source of the collision. "But don't worry, I'm a—aww... you have got to be shitting me…"

_Okay, relax… just because the guy in front of you has a Two accent and looks to be within the age range, and there's nobody else around that fits the profile, it doesn't mean he's your roommate. There's an easy way to confirm this._ So I push my initial dismay under and casually ask, "Diocletian?"

The kid looks a bit uneasy — actually he looked uneasy ever since I swore in his face — but states, "Yeah. Though if you don't mind, I prefer Dio." _Dammit! _"You're Edwen, right?"

Instead of answering right away, I take a good look at the source of my dismay. My hope for a roommate who's within six inches of height has not just failed to be fulfilled; it has been smashed to pieces and burnt to cinders. He's not just taller than me but actually has at least a foot on my height; hell, he possibly has an inch or two on Luce, and it's clear that he's even more athletic in build which is no small feat.

While it doesn't bug me at all unlike my first observation, it's very likely that my prediction that he would not be from a Peacekeeper-slash-Career background is proven false as well. Seriously, this guy looks like a poster child for Career recruitment. Even disregarding the physical build, everything about him screams Two-based military discipline: sandy hair cut within regulation, collared t-shirt tucked neatly into trousers, said t-shirt buttoned all the way, said trousers without a trace of wrinkling and tucked carefully into legging-secured boots, said boots shined to an even matte finish… The only thing that potentially mars the clean-cut image is the dimpled scar near his left temple; however, even that just helps to showcase a martial appearance.

In the end though, the Career image falls short a bit. Because, for all of the grooming, there is this quality to the kid that hints that he'd be a piss-poor Career. It could be his constant fidgeting as I scrutinize him. It could be the friendly and concerned tone in his voice which I've not heard in any Career interview. It could be the look in his eyes that lacks any sort of arrogance or aggression, which is more than I can say for the other kids in this program.

Whatever it is, for some irrational reason, I'm finding this not-Career to be quite agreeable. So I exhale a huff of air before, against better judgment, offering my hand and replying, "You can just call me Ned."

Once I say that, a lot of the nervous fidgeting dissipates as a relived smile breaks on Dio's face and he gives me an eager, if crushing, handshake. Though I notice that he also seems to be having some reservations about something judging by the way he's looking at me; that kind of look where you know that someone is having an opinion about you but is too polite to say anything even though the lack of subtlety renders it all moot. So I roll my eyes and sigh, "If we're going to be roommates, you might as well get whatever's on your mind off."

Dio seems a bit startled by my statement and the fidgeting comes back in full force. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." _Hopefully it's about the scars, my eyes, or even my background. As long as it's not about—_

My train of thought is interrupted by me being picked up and, seemingly in an effortless manner, being lifted up to be held at arm's-length so that we are at eye level to each other; those eyes — the amber color of them is bright enough to almost veer into the same kind of golden yellow that certain birds of prey contain — make me want to take a blood sample.

Before I can ask Dio what the hell he's doing, the smile on his face widens with an almost childlike glee, and before I can stop the incoming horror, he pulls me into a crushing hug.

And over my suffocated squawks of protest, the idiot squeals, "You're. Just. So. Portable!"

Something tells me that this is going to be a long school year…

* * *

**A/N:**** Alright, this is something that would probably feel more familiar for those who have already read _Seeds of Panem_. However, I hope that this story will be able to stand on it's own; I will occasionally redirect to SoP.**

**This reasoning behind this story is twofold. One is just to make a fun slice-of-life story, but another purpose is to show what Panem would look like during its post-war reconstruction period. What kind of challenges would it face? What resentments would linger? What would the government look like and how are diplomatic relations? Stuff like that. Also there may be some intersections with canon characters here and there.**

**Also: for those who have read _Vox__ Libertas_, this story is canon-compliant. However, there is stuff here that's important to the _Spielpolitik_ AU, including the sequel. In fact, if you are reading _Vox Libertas_ at the moment, I suggest putting this story on hold until you finish.**

**Oh, and it probably goes without saying that the opinions espoused by Ned aren't necessarily that of the author. Seriously, he is not somebody I would normally consider to be a role model.**

**In any case, hope you enjoy.**


	2. A Capitol Tour

If I wanted an overly-friendly spaz to welcome us, I would have asked for Luce. Because Delly Cartwright makes the Bastard utterly mellow in comparison. Nobody should be this perpetually cheerful; it's unnatural. The creepiest part is that it doesn't even look like some façade; she actually seems to genuinely like interacting with all of us. To top it off, she's going to be our RA; aka our residence floor babysitter.

After getting an earful of how much this is going to be "such a great experience", we finally begin registering at a table, where we each receive electronic tablet. After we set up our accounts — some of the kids are hilariously inept at such a simple procedure — the tablets are purposed to both serve as work stations and hold all of our personal information as pertains to the program: class schedules, grade information, maps of campus and list of organizations, and etc. We also have our pictures taken so that we receive our ID cards, which not only allows us access at many of the facilities on campus, but also will serve as a meal ticket and key to our residences. Admittedly, they give us quite a convenient set-up; not as convenient as having everything at the swipe of a fingerprint, but apparently tech like that is looked upon suspiciously by many in the districts.

With that out of the way, we finally get ready to head over to our destination. As our group exits the station to come out into a square, we find ourselves facing a midsized — not much bigger than a bus or train car — hovercraft. It's one of those high-end short-distance transports; engines, wings, and repulsors are set up on the roof of the vehicle so as to give the floor to ceiling windows an unobstructed view. Waiting outside of the aircraft is someone whom I assume is the pilot: a squirrely-looking guy who has to be around the same age as us or, at most, in his very early twenties; also on his flight suit, there's a nametag that reads as "Jenson".

Delly decides to introduce him to us: "This is Julian, and he's going to be your pilot not just for our journey to the university but whenever there's going to a group trip anywhere within a short distance. I can tell you that he's an excellent pilot and knows this city like the back of his hand."

Jenson gives a nervous laugh at the compliment. "Thanks Delly. Anyways, I'm glad to meet you guys, and I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have, be it now or later, about the Capitol — places to eat, things to do, neighborhoods to avoid… — so that you can settle in as best as possible.

"Right now, I'm supposed to be taking you to the campus, but Delly here suggested that we use this time to give a short tour. We have the time, and my supervisors gave the O.K., so I'll be familiarizing you with this city. Anyways," he says with a gesture towards the transport, "I'm ready to go when all of you are."

As we board the craft, Jenson tries greeting us individually… with mixed results. Most are cordial but some are downright brusque; Dio seems to be the only one who genuinely responds back to the greeting in a friendly manner. Especially noticeable is the way Natt is staring at Jenson with narrow-eyed suspicion the whole time; when the boy from Eight finally passes the Capitol pilot, I can almost see the pilot wilting under his gaze. I'll admit, there is something about him that's nagging at me a bit.

It does take long after we secure our stuff and find our seats that the transport lifts off the ground. You can definitely tell which one of the kids have never flown before as they are either on the verge of panic or plastering themselves onto the window as if they were tree frogs; my roommate's the latter. The whole time, as the transport flies low and at a leisurely pace, our pilot announces the sights over the intercom.

The city that's the Capitol is pretty much a four-mile-by-four-mile square situated on top of a reservoir. Sure there are residences and parks that sprawl a bit up the steep hills, but the vast majority is on the constructed platform. The result is a pretty easy-to-figure-out setup that's simple to travel around; seriously, if you can't navigate a grid like this, something wrong with you. Around the whole set-up is a force field that keeps the temperature pretty stable, especially during the winter where it supposedly gets cold as balls; one of the key events to bring the city to its knees during the invasion was supposedly taking down the weather control as winter was just starting up.

After leaving the transportation and industrial sector, we fly over District Town, which gets its namesake from its inhabitants. A decent place, though sketchy in parts; the surrounding neighborhood is definitely sketchy though. The sketch gradually gives way to Midtown, which is just regular mixed-use residential and commercial development; the average Capitol citizen lives here. Around the southern corner of the square, however, the affluence goes up immediately, with luxury high-rises and entertainment districts overlooking a boardwalk and marina that line the lakeside; it's apparently the same on the northern corner. The mountainsides are also where there's high-end development in the form of individual homes and mansions alongside scenic parks; apparently a really popular one on the southern half is Monument Park.

From the sky, it's clear that the effects of the war still linger. Sure most the streets have been fixed and cleared of rubble, and people can be seen milling about their daily business. However, here and there, buildings still lie abandoned and even wrecked in some places. It's especially clear in the financial district, as gleaming skyscrapers with bustling workers stand next to ones that haven't been fixed yet due to their vacancies; though in this case, it's more of a case of businesses actually moving into their districts, with only branch offices — mainly focusing on the financial and trade aspects — remaining here.

Very soon, as we maneuver around Center Lake, the centerpiece skyscraper that housed the Games Headquarters looms into view. So far, there is current debate as to what should happen with the structure: preserve the whole building as a museum-slash-memorial, repurpose it for another function, or simply demolish the damn thing? Either way it's clear that it's definitely the tallest building in the Capitol. From what I've been told, the architect who designed this was the same person who designed the Tower; this one's definitely more ostentatious though.

Upon going into the eastern half of the city, we enter into the governmental district. Massive buildings containing various departments sprawl across the landscape. One thing that really gets the attention of everybody is when we pass by the mountainside that contains Embassy Row. Structures done in various styles house the offices of various nations Panem has dealings with; the whole idea that there are other nations out there is something that just been recently introduced to the majority of the populace. What's poignant is that some of the embassies are currently vacant, while others seem to just be finishing-up construction. Among the newer embassies, I recognize that of Neo-Phoenicia, as well as the Pacific League. However several of the ones under construction are lost to me: one of them has a tiered roof and a symbol of a wheel with eight spokes; another is domed and has the symbol of a crescent moon with a star; the last is tan with a red-tiled roof and is topped with that plus-like symbol that Luce and the Bitch currently wear around their necks. I'll probably find out later.

Soon we come across the main plaza of the Capitol, now named Primrose Circle. They even renovated it in a way that has the ground tiles that create the four-petal form that characterizes the flower when viewed from above. On one end of the Circle, there is the boulevard that the chariots came down; flanking it are the stands and statues of all seventy-five victors. On the other side is the Presidential Mansion, which definitely doesn't look like there has even been a scratch on it.

Somewhere past the skyscraper complex that houses Panem General, the transport shudders a bit. That is accompanied by a calm announcement that we've hit some turbulence and will need to land immediately; fortunately, we are already near our destination anyways. However, something seems a bit… off about that announcement. It's not until I look out the window then up that I realize what the issue is; since there is no purpose in announcing it, I decide to keep my mouth shut, though the kids from Six have figured it out as well, judging from their ashen expressions. Either way, we land without incident.

Once the doors open, our pilot stands by the exit with a smile to farewell everybody as they disembark. Jenson's smile only falters when Natt stops again to scrutinize him a bit more before he departs. That's when I'm pretty sure I know what's nagging me about the pilot, and there's just one way to find out; so I decide to hang back until the last person has departed; or at least second-to-last as Dio seems to be refusing to leave until I do.

After the last student has disembarked, Jenson lets out what sounds like a sigh of relief as he shakily allows himself to lean back against the nearest wall; he reacts with just a weak smile and the slightest nod once Dio — after some assurance that I'll be right on his footsteps — walks in his direction. It's at this moment that I decide to spring my little test.

_How does the Sergeant Major do it again? Let's see…_

"Fix yourself, soldier!"

Getting a reaction is actually a bit of a crapshoot even if you get the tone just right, which in itself is quite a challenge; also I had to tweak the statement a bit since it's a different type of service. In this case though, I'm not disappointed. The moment I bark out that demand, the effect is practically instantaneous: Jensen immediately stands at attention, and the look on his face shows him steeling himself for some kind of verbal ass-chewing. The real funny thing is that Dio does the exact same thing.

Just a couple seconds pass before they both realize that this was a trick and try to relax their stance, but the damage has been done already. My roommate turns to stare at me with an expression of extreme mortification before bolting out of the transport as if it was on fire; I quickly glance around just in case it actually is. While Jenson hasn't fled the scene as well, he isn't doing that much better judging by the way that his face is rapidly draining of color.

"Well… well… well… What do we have here?" I drawl while casually strolling toward the pilot.

"Please don't tell anybody." The guy's voice comes out quite pitiful, and he looks ready to crawl into a hole and die.

I decide to feign ignorance to prolong the fun. "Tell anybody what?"

"That I…"

"That you…" I motion him to continue. "Go on… you can say it."

"That I… was… a—"

"—Peacekeeper?" Figuring that this conversation is not going to be done before the end of the year without any prodding, I helpfully finish off the sentence for him. "You were intending on saying 'Peacekeeper', right?"

Jenson hesitantly nods his head. _Some Peacekeeper this loser is; probably was in a noncombat role._ "How could you tell?"

"How could I _not_ tell? The worn-down Capitol accent with a hint of Two in there; the haircut and general composure; my little test being a resounding success… After a while, no matter the service, formal military training tends to leave a noticeable impact."

"Still, please don't tell your friends."

Now _that_ causes bark out a laugh. "Them? My friends? If you think that those idiots are my friends, you have another thing coming." Hell, even if they weren't a bunch of resentful rubes, the whole concept of making friends is utterly ridiculous to me. "But let me guess: you're afraid if that collection of young district dwellers finds out that there's a Big Bad Peacekeeper in their midst, they'd give you grief, hmm?"

The pilot nods, which causes me to shrug a bit. "Fair enough. But, to be frank, I think that Natty Rebel has already figured it out judging by the way that he looked like he wanted to bludgeon you with that stick he seems to be keeping up his ass.

"Anyways, I also take it your employer knows anyways."

"She knows. In fact, she decided to hire me almost right after I surrendered; apparently, she was impressed about my flying skills," he explains while fidgeting and looking at me earnestly. "You know, I never hurt anybody; at least not intentionally. I was just a courier and assisted with the evacuation of—"

"_You know_, I really don't care." I interrupt while holding my hand up to keep him from probably explaining his entire life story. "I just wanted to see if my suspicions were true; nothing more, nothing less."

As I begin to walk past Jenson, he fidgets some more "So…"

I stop long enough to huff in exasperation. "No, I'm not going to tell anyone. The majority of security for my folks' company consists of former Peacekeepers; you think I'm going to mind one being a glorified bus driver? If you were one of those assholes who ran around the districts and made everybody's life miserable, I highly doubt that you'd be hired. So get a hold of yourself." He relaxes and exhales long enough for me to rummage in my vest pocket. "Oh, by the way, catch!"

With just that warning, I toss a silver in Julian Jenson's direction. Despite the short notice, the pilot does succeed in catching the coin with no flailing involved; when he gets a better look at it, his eyes widen. "This—"

"— is a tip; services well-rendered should always be rewarded." I don't bother looking back as I walk out to join the rest of the group. "It seems that praise for your piloting skills wasn't unfounded. So thanks for the tour and keeping us from dying during that engine failure."

* * *

**A/N: Just a basic layout of my interpretation of the Capitol. Certain spots and neighborhoods will definitely be explored later on****.**

**It's not hard to see Delly volunteering for this kind of position. I imagine her as that RA that, for some reason, seems to have an unlimited source of energy. For anybody who has lived in a residence hall, you probably know what I'm talking about; if not from your floor, at least from another.**

**The fate of Peacekeepers after the war's end is probably something that would be pretty contentious. Majority of the brutal or zealous ones would definitely have been killed or are on trial. The vast majority of survivors though are likely to just be average individuals from Two that happened on the wrong side of the conflict. As I hinted in the first chapter, most probably fled and settled elsewhere; in this case, they settled right outside Two. However, many would still likely reside in Panem, be they unable or unwilling to leave; of course, they risk negative public sentiment if found out.**


	3. Preconceptions

For some reason, when I rejoin the group that is milling around the small square, Dio is looking at me as if he were a puppy that accidentally wandered into my path and got kicked in the process. Something tells me that it has something to do with my little test previously.

"So…" I state as I sidle next to my roommate, who flinches and looks like he's expecting me to hurt him. I ignore that and nod towards the rest of the group. "Did I miss anything?"

Dio's anxiety-laden expression gets replaced by one of confusion before he visibly relaxes and exhales a sigh of seeming relief. "Nope. They are just allowing us to mill around a bit. So, why'd you want to hang back?"

_I think you know…_ However, something tells me that the topic is something that I should avoid. "I decided to compliment our pilot on his flying skills and give him a tip."

"Oh. That's nice of you."

"Has nothing to do with niceness," I state with a shrug. "Good performance should always be rewarded."

A new voice decides to join our conversation. "And how much did you reward this… _pilot_?" I turn towards the source to see a sneering Natt.

If that was supposed to be some attempt at shaming me or something, it's not really working, "A silver," I reply in a casual manner; Dio's eyes go wide at this.

The boy from Eight is less impressed as he crosses his arms and snorts, "Typical…"

Despite me already dismissing the former rebel as not worth my time, I can't help but feel a twinge of irritation. "In what way? Please, do elaborate."

"Only a kid like you, who's living on mommy and daddy's bank, would so blithely toss around silvers to every single person they meet." I can practically feel the resentment rolling off of him.

"Haha! Oh man, if you think I'm the type to give hand-outs, well you have another thing coming."

Natt's resentment shifts to disgust. "_Of course _not. We're all beneath you. All of us except for Peacekeepers, apparently." Welp, I guess that not-secret's out of the bag.

There's more nervous shifting around from my roommate, whom I ignore to retort. "If that _former_ Peacekeeper kept our hovercraft having an unpleasant reunion with the ground — ask the Sixers; they know what I'm talking about — of course I will hold him in higher esteem than the rest of you. What have you done to earn my direct respct?"

"I don't need your respect." Looks like somebody's nerve was struck. "I fought in the Rebe—"

"Well aren't you a precious little snowflake. 'Ooh, look at me: I fought in the Rebellion. I fired guns and laid my enemies low. Pewpewpew!'" Now I'm really riling him up. "Well, so have my folks and several hundred thousand other people; you don't see the majority of them riding on that legacy. Not to mention that my family already is one of the biggest sponsors for the veterans' pensions. So besides that, don't expect a copper from me unless you show that you've earned it. And I assure you: if Jenson was a former rebel instead of a Peacekeeper, I'd give a silver to him all the same."

At this point, considering the way that he's glaring at me, Natt looks ready to escalate our little disagreement to the physical level. However, he settles for shaking his head with a huff and stomping off.

"What was he talking about? Why did he seem to be so angry with you?"

I airily dismiss Dio's query with a wave. "I think Natty Rebel, and everybody else, is just a bit miffed that the guy who could already easily afford to be here was chosen; granted, _I myself_ am still a bit confused as to why I'm here."

"You do seem to have a lot of money if you considered a silver to be a tip." The funny thing is that Dio actually doesn't sound envious or anything; just merely curious. Barring those from Central or at a similar social class, plus a select few in West City, my peers usually fall into two categories: those who resent the hell out of me, or those who try to mooch for a hand-out; when I turn the latter down, they always transform into the former.

That's when a realization hits me, and now it's my turn to be astonished. "You… you really don't know who I am?"

"Um… your name is Edwen Bannon, and you're from District Three?"

"But you don't know what my family does." He shakes his head. "They didn't make any commentary during the ceremony? You haven't seen the tabloids about a 'unknown child'."

"I didn't watch the whole thing," he admits. "And I don't pay attention to tabloids."

"Huh…" _Well, this is a first. Then again…_ "At the very least, do you recognize this?" I hold out the collar of my shirt to him so that he could get a good look at its pin securing it.

This time, I can see recognition dawn on Dio's face as gets a good look of the symbol: a three-pointed star, oriented point down, encircled by three figures similar to stylized comets. Right on the heels of that recognition is realization as his jaw goes slack. "I-I know that your last name is Bannon, but I didn't want to assume that—"

"— my ma-m and dad are the co-CEOs of Panem Dynamics? It's understandable that you didn't make the connection; they're way more pleasant and generous than me."

"I didn't want to assume…" he repeats almost inaudibly.

"Well… consider yourself in the minority." I wonder how he's going to act now that he knows. Is he going to start mooching like the rest of the parasites, or is he going to skip that part and be a resentful little prick? I ready myself for either option.

Instead, my roommate actually looks a bit thoughtful. "Okay, now I think I understand why the other students are angry. I mean, from the impressions I've had about the company, your parents could probably buy the entire university itself." _Don't doubt it…_ "So it does seem a bit unfair that you got in while somebody who wouldn't even be able to afford to travel here didn't.

"However, I'm sure that the committee did take your wealth into account, and I've always had the impression that your parents are very decent people who wouldn't do something like directly influence the decision-making. So there must be a good reason that they selected you, which means that you still earned your place," he concludes with a smile.

Okay, out of all of the possible outcomes, I was not expecting this. "Wait, so you're not mad?"

Dio looks legitimately confused by my question and tilts his head like a dog that doesn't know what to make of a situation. "Why should I be mad?"

"Because most people either loathe me for having more than them, or they ask me for a hand-out… followed by the loathing when they figure out my belief that altruism is for suckers."

"That's silly… If it wasn't for your parents' company, a lot of people in my district may have lost their jobs when another company tried to take control of the weapons factories and move them to District Six. So, I don't see any reason to resent them for them for being prosperous, and I don't see any reason to hate you just because you have money.

"Also, I was always taught that you should be able to stand on your own two feet and only request help when you are sure that you can return the favor later on. Demanding a hand-out is a sign of weakness and selfishness. And I don't want to be weak…"

The last sentence is murmured so quietly that I almost miss it. I don't see why he has to state it under his breath though; weakness is something that should always be considered undesirable. Also, I knew about Panem Dynamics gaining control of the Two factories before its main competitor could get its greasy mitts on them, but I didn't expect that there would be such a positive reaction from that; what I do remember was how it didn't exactly endear us to some of the rabble who wanted Two completely emasculated.

Despite the rationales, this kid seems stranger by the minute.

"Of course, I wouldn't be opposed to you giving a little gift out of the goodness of your heart," he adds with a grin while nudging me. I respond with a snort and nudge back harder — I might as well be nudging a stone pillar — which just causes him to laugh and raise his hands in good-humored placation.

"They teach you that in Career school?"

The moment I make that quip, Dio's grin drops away and is immediately replaced by the same kicked-puppy expression. _Huh… guess that's another conversation topic to avoid. _Fortunately that look on his face doesn't remain as he seems to get distracted by the Delly telling us that it's time to go on the move again. Dio's attention being able to be sidetracked easily is something that will probably be useful later on.

Anyways, we are led over to a large auditorium where, for whatever reason, a security checkpoint is set up after the entrance. After the guards get intimate with us, we are allowed inside where we take our seats. The program starts off with a usual spiel from the university's chancellor welcoming us to this school; that's followed by another official giving a brief overview of the school itself as well as what our orientation for the next several weeks will consist off. The next few speeches seem to muddle together and, soon, some of us are actually beginning to dose off. That doesn't last long since the last speaker, who comes in through a side entrance once it's her turn to talk, is a bit of a surprise to all of us.

It's President Paylor herself.

The president, despite having a tired quality to her, beams at all of us before commencing:

"I've been around enough kids to know that you're all bored out of your minds and itching to get out of here, so I'm going to make this short.

"It is my belief that young people are integral to the building and sustainment of a nation. My predecessors thought that as well, but in a twisted way; Snow considered them to be tools to terrify the populace while Coin considered them tools to amass power." Funnily enough, the ones from Thirteen don't look too offended at that statement; then again, I doubt that the crazies who supported that psychotic bitch would be willing to have anything to do with Paylor anyways. "The thing is: you are not tools; you're real-life people with aspirations of your own. Those aspirations could help lead Panem to something new.

"I am not going to mince words: this nation is still in a delicate state. Yes, we are rebuilding, but it's that rebuilding period where we are most vulnerable. And in the end, it is your generation and the following one that will inherit the result. At the same time, this is also a time where we have a practical blank slate to work from, and where we can start anew, regardless of our pasts." I swear that she's looking in my direction while saying that. "That is why I started this program: to give _you_ the tools to help build this country toward the better tomorrow.

"So I hope you will make the most of this."

A smile forms on the president's face while she looks at us; it's as if she's a schoolteacher appraising her favorite pupils. It's admittedly a bit strange to see her like this. I mean, my folks have told me that she's good people and such, though I myself have never met her in person; however, the borderline-maternal approach she has now still feels jarring from my preconceptions. "Of course, things should never be all work. So in the meantime, I hope that you all will enjoy yourself here, make new friends, and have fresh experiences.

"You're all still young, so make this time count."

* * *

**A/N: In keeping with the Roman theme, Panem's currency is the denarius; due to the habit of people keeping with something familiar, it didn't change after the Rebellion was over, though the imagery was amended. One denarius would be roughly equivalent to a USD in worth. **

**As for the physical currency, it's mainly coin-based for now, though transitioning to paper: twenty stones, with each stone representing five cents, go into a denarius; one denarius is represented by a copper; five coppers go into a nickel; four nickels go into a bronze; five bronzes go into a silver; ten silvers go into a gold; after that point, you might as well just write a check or pay electronically. **

**With that in mind, shouldn't be hard to do the math and figure out why tipping with a silver would be such a big deal. **


	4. Settling In

After Paylor's little speech, we're taken to a dining hall and given dinner with ample time to mingle. As I munch on another slice of pizza — most of the kids act like they haven't seen such a thing before — I take note of my surroundings.

Already it's clear that in some spots, social groups are starting to be formed. It also looks like Dio's trying to make friends with the other kids, with very lackluster results. Most them, including the girl from his own district, act quite aloof; the ones from Six, Eight, Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen, however, seem to view him with thinly-veiled contempt. Delly's the only one who talking to him amicably, but I suspect that's because she's like that with everybody, so it doesn't really count. Finally, he seems to give up on that, and comes back to sit right next to me.

"Well, that seemed to go well," I can't help but quip.

Dio actually doesn't look bothered at all and simply shrugs in response. "It couldn't hurt to try. What about you? All I've seen you do is sit alone in this corner and eat. Aren't you going to try and make friends?"

His statement is so ridiculous that I can't help but bark out a laugh. "You seem to forget that these folks really don't care for me."

"Well maybe if you took the time—"

"As supposed to actually doing something else constructive? Yeah no. If I'm going to be wasting my time, I'd rather enjoy myself in the process. Besides…" I can just feel the bile rising up at just the notion of the concept. "I don't do friendship."

My roommate seems to be completely taken aback. "What's so bad about having a friend?"

"Oh I'm sure others find it to be quite beneficial; it's just not for me. Too much commitment towards maintaining a bond that also requires work from the other side; it's the very definition of 'unreliable'." I don't tell him that I do have several guys whom I would _possibly_ call friends; however, shortly after we reached that state, I had to leave Central which rendered the whole thing pointless. Funny how things like that work out… not.

"So…" He seems to be apprehensive when asking the next question: "What does that make us then?"

_Is-is he implying that he wants us to be… friends?_ "Roommates." _Nothing more… nothing less…_

It's obvious that's not the answer Dio's looking for. _Well too bad._ At the same time, the rapid play of emotion on his face indicates that he's still trying figure out what to do with the information given. Finally, he gives another small shrug with a smile and states, "Fair enough. It's better than nothing."

_Weirdo…_

After the sun has finally set, we are finally taken to where we're staying, which is great because I'm exhausted. Our living quarters are located in a skyscraper at the far end of campus and overlooking one of the larger canals; compared to other buildings in the Capitol, it's positively modest in appearance with a rectangular cross-section. Our RA tells us that, since this building was recently renovated and refurbished, they have the entire top floor reserved for first-years of the program.

When we arrive on our level, it's indeed clear that they spared no expense in trying to make us comfortable as possible. I mean it's not the type of luxury one expects from an upper class citizen. Rather it's simply a nice cozy and up-to-date set-up. Most of the floor is take up by a large high-ceilinged — probably about thirty feet high — common area furnished with sofas, tables, an entertainment system, and various games; at the base of the structure is also supposedly a swimming pool, exercise area, and laundry facilities. On opposite ends of the space are floor-to-ceiling windows that angle out and give an expansive view of the campus on one side and the canal with the lake beyond on the other. The other two sides contain our rooms, with seven dorms each opposite from one another, as well as the access points and a fully-furnished kitchen; on top of our room-and-board, we are each given a small stipend so as to be able to purchase stuff around town.

At this point, I don't think these soon-to-be residents know what to do with what they are given right now.

Finally, we are let go and allowed to retire into the dorms. Our rooms are just as comfortably furnished as the outside, with, among other things, a sturdy good-sized bunk bed, large sofa, two desks, walk-in closet, and a good-sized bathroom near the entrance; being on the western side also gives us a good view of the illuminated city.

Also noticeable is that the rest of our stuff is already here. Before heading to the ceremony, there were instructions to pack anything I didn't want to carry with me ahead of time and put it all in a centralized location. I don't know if it was grabbed during the ceremony itself or when my folks got back home; either way, they managed to bring everything here by the time we arrived, which is admittedly pretty impressive.

As I begin taking all essentials out — I'll get to the rest tomorrow — and putting them in the appropriate locations, I realize that neither of us has actually taken a claim to the bunk spots yet. Thing is, I'm not sure how to request the lower bunk without making it look like I'm asking for an easier-to-reach level.

Fortunately, Dio makes the decision for me. "Is it okay if I take the top bunk?"

Okay, I can't look too thrilled at the answer, so I decide to challenge him a bit. "Any reason you want that one?"

I don't know why, but he actually looks a bit hesitant in answering me. "I just… like the view of the city." It sounds like there's something more to that pitifully weak rationale, but I'm not going to dispute it. So I just wave my hand in assent before taking several heavy blankets out to install as a curtain around my bed; with everything in place, I follow up with a shower.

After washing and steaming away away the day from myself — the shower's one of those awesome ones with nozzles everywhere — I come out to find that my roommate has already managed to unpack and organize all of his belongings; he even took the time to arrange the stuff on his desk in such a freakishly orderly manner that it looks like a machine did the job. It makes my side look like a tornado went through it.

"Shower's free," I grunt.

"'kay…" Dio mutters; it seems that all of his attention is placed on messing around with the device installed in our room. I recognize the model; it was actually made for the Capitol several years before the Rebellion but is currently starting to become a hot consumer item for those in the district who are able to afford it. With the thing on, it gives an impression that our room has no walls or ceiling, with scenery and other imagery projected on all sides; additional holographic projectors help give more depth to the illusion by having stuff animated in space between.

As a hummingbird flits around me, I can't help but smirk at my roommate's childish enthusiasm. "Enjoying yourself?"

Despite the deadpan delivery, he doesn't look the bit bemused at my query. In fact, he's positively beaming at me with wide eyes and an even wider grin. "This is seriously awesome."

"Well it's from Three; expect nothing but the best," I yawn before crawling into my sanctuary. "Alright, I'm going to hit the sack. See you in the morning."

I'm just about settled in perfectly when Dio's voice calls from beyond the curtain: "Hey Ned?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I set this… thingy so that it projects something through the night? Nothing too bright or anything! Just something like the stars."

_Strange request but okay… _"Light's blocked from entering here so it shouldn't be a problem." I decide to add in a request of my own. "You mind if I play music while I sleep?" I turn the player on so that he's knows what I listen to.

"Not at all. Goodnight, Ned…"

"'night," I respond before allowing myself to drift off to blissful uninterrupted sleep.

~oOo~

Or not.

_What the…?_

I'm awoken from my slumber by a strange keening noise emanating above me. It's strange enough that my curiosity is piqued, so I unfurl myself from my comforter, crawl to the edge of bed, and perch at the lip to pop my head up.

With the projector on — it's indeed set to a celestial setting; nebula from the looks of it — I get a good look at the top bunk, and the sight that greets me is… weird to say the least.

It looks like Dio's still asleep, but his version of sleep doesn't seem to be a restful one. He's curled up in a compact ball — never would have expected someone of his size to be able to create such a small profile — and clutching tightly at his sheets. Every now and then, his body would tremble as if the temperature's freezing… or he's scared of something. However, that's not the weirdest part; what's weird is the whimpering that emanates from him, punctuated with what sounds suspiciously like pleas.

I take in the scene for about minute before finally shrugging and lowering back down into my own bed to lie on my back as the situation at hand is mulled over. My roommate does seem to be the ridiculously sensitive sort, so it's probably just a bad dream or something similar. Even if it isn't, there's no sign that it bugs him during the daytime, and it's not like it affects me. _So…_

With that in mind, I turn the volume to the music up just enough to drown out the ambient noise and re-cocoon myself to settle comfortably back into place.

_Not my problem._

* * *

**A/N: Ned Bannon, role model extraordinaire. PBS Kids should have him host a daytime show; what's the worse that could happen?  
**


	5. A Little Jog

"Just out of curiosity…"

"Yeah?"

"Back in Two… did you have a uniform for every situation possible?"

My query causes Dio to frown a bit in a thoughtful manner. "Not _everything_. We do have a public dress code though. Why do you ask?"

_Maybe because of the little fact that, while you've switched from trousers to shorts, you still look like you're trying to fit within military regulations… and then some. _My old Scout uniform looks way more casual in comparison. "Oh, no reason."

The dress code explanation does make sense. I'm starting to think that anybody residing in Two is incapable of dressing themselves smartly if the outfit doesn't involve a uniform or regulation. I've seen it with the boots that come into Central — fortunately, within several months, they do begin to gain some sense in how to clothe themselves — and I'm seeing it with this kid; can't make a judgment about Peacekeepers since I've only seen them in uniform or Careers for obvious reasons. Granted, they may look uptight, but the Twofers aren't as bad as the Thirteens.

Oh well, at least he seems comfortable and is wearing something practical for the season. It's also probably good that the color scheme of the entire isn't all-white; that'd probably raise some eyebrows and cause Natt to gnash his teeth some more. So who am I to judge?

Okay, who am I to judge in an excessively vocal manner?

Anyways, my assessment last night is indeed correct. Sure enough, Dio looks perfectly fine and good-natured as usual, with no sign that he was in the fetal position and practically bawling his eyes out several hours ago. So whatever happened was likely just a set of nightmares with no bearing during the actual period of activity. Even if it's something more, it looks like he has everything under control; so as long things don't spill into my own life, all is good.

In the meantime, we are given a day to acclimate before the next couple weeks of orientation actually commence. Which makes me ask the following question:

"So, is there a reason you're all dressed up?" Seriously, it's only a little bit past 0700, and he already looking like he's ready to tackle the day with some pep in his step. I, on the other hand, am not even bothering to roll out of bed as I stick my head from under the curtains.

"Well… I'm about to go have breakfast — you're welcome to join by the way; I can wait — and plan to follow that up with a stroll around the campus. I want to get a feel for the place before we actually have to go to our classes and activities; doing so may help in making it so that an expedient route is found. Stuff like that. If you have a better idea to spend the day, I'm game."

At the mention of finding an expedient route, my interest is piqued, and I actually do allow myself to tumble from my little den. "I _was_ planning on sleeping till noon, but now that you mention it, I may take you up on your breakfast offer. And I, if you're up for it, I think I have something a bit more fun in mind than just _walking_ around campus."

~oOo~

Once I mention my idea of a little race, Dio seems to be extremely receptive. So after breakfast, we use the time that it takes for our stomachs to settle to plan it out.

The goal is simple: first one to the statue of the two crazies from Twelve — my roommate thought I was being disrespectful when I called them that, but last I checked it's what they are — wins. To top it off, there is no set course, and any path can be taken; the only caveat is that Panem General is a midpoint that we are required to pass within a block of. To top it off, as a point of this is to get an idea of how to easily traverse the city, we are to wear our regular daytime clothing instead of purely athletic gear.

"You up for that?"

"Why not? While the route seems a bit far, our clothes are made for high activity as well as staying within code. What about you?"

"I could say the same." I fact, my clothes are specifically made for the kind of activity I partake in, and I still look good in the process. "So you ready?"

"Whenever you are." To his credit, the kid — and I mean _kid_; he mentioned earlier that it's not even until next month that he turns eighteen, which would probably make him the youngest out of everybody and almost two years my junior — looks extremely excited for this. "By the way, what's with the gloves?" He asks as I put on a pair of fingerless gloves.

"Oh, they simply make everything a bit easier." Normally, I'd also be wearing my HUD glasses — one of the few things I could take with me from Central — especially since this is unfamiliar territory, but despite the increased risk that it brings, I decided not to out of fairness; I don't think Dio has any idea what I'm planning. Just to be on the safe side, I did make sure ahead of time that there are no restricted spots that I may run into.

In due time, we are at the front of the residential tower with the avenue extending out in front of us. The avenue goes for about 200 meters southwest before it hits a traffic circle at the far end of the campus. From there the UP campus is more or less a collection of large academic halls crammed along a 700-meter plaza that's oriented southeast from where we are; said plaza is trisected first by the student center then secondly by Cyrus Hall, which is the administrative building and main auditorium. At the end of the plaza is Panem General, and beyond that is another circular plaza and traffic circle which is connected to a boulevard that goes for about 800 meters to Primrose Circle. The Boulevard of Victors extends directly westward from there, with the paired statues of Everdeen and Mellark about 1300 meters from there plus a good walk up the set of stands. Suffice to say, when also taking into account added distance of stuff in between, the most direct route on the ground is at least two miles, which isn't bad, though it's not taking into account stuff like traffic.

Except… who said anything about me staying on the ground?

"Alright," I announce as we both get into a starting stance, "on the count of three. One. Two. Three!" _SHIT!_ I knew that Dio looked athletic, but I didn't expect him to be this fast. I'm just barely able to keep on his tail and wondering a bit if he's going to burn himself out.

No matter; I soon see the perfect building, take a hard left, and, before long, am scaling the cladding that makes up its facade. The moment I reach the rooftop, I take in the expanse before me and get into my element.

Like most spots in the Capitol, this area is made up of clean low-rise buildings. However, the important thing is that the urban planning is done with space in mind; thus, barring the larger avenues and boulevards, there is minimal space between each of them. It's just what I need.

As I continue forward — running, leaping, climbing, sliding, and rolling in the process — the landscape almost seems to transform. Every rooftop is a roadway; every ledge, outcropping, or decal is something to find purchase; every street and alley is a surmountable hurdle; every footbridge is a… bridge. Anyways this may not be the walkways and skyscrapers of West City, nor is it the forests and karst formations of Central, but this neighborhood of the Capitol has challenges and thrills of its own… and I welcome them.

Even though it's only been a day so far, for the first time since I have arrived here, I truly feel alive.

When I reach the campus' plaza and beginning running along an especially long academic hall, I risk just enough attention to peer down at the ground. Turns out that I managed to catch up to Dio, who's looking repeatedly over his shoulder. It may possibly due to me being close enough to the edge to be flagged in his field of vision, but for whatever reason, my roommate looks up towards my direction; that's when his jaw drops and he stumbles to land in a sprawling mess across the lawn. At least he didn't hit the concrete.

With the student center ahead, I decide to cross the plaza at this point. Fortunately, the center is connected to all surrounding buildings by a set of bridges. I manage to surprise the wits out of a group of Capitolites when I hit the nearest bridge and go into building, earning stares as I run towards the exit at the exact opposite side. Upon exiting, I continue on until I pass Cyrus Hall —that one required finding a footbridge across the boulevard that goes perpendicular to the plaza — and finally reach the hospital.

However, instead of following the boulevard to Primrose Circle, I proceed to take a near ninety-degree turn away from it towards the southwest. The closer I get to the Boulevard of the Victors, the taller the buildings become, with the academic and civic halls giving way to residential mid-rises, making the trip an uphill one; which is just as well considering that the wall that flanks the boulevard and spectator stands — not to mention serving as the base of the victors' statues — rises up at least a hundred feet. I could simply go back down to ground level, enter in through one of many entrances, and run up the stands… but where's the fun in that?

In due time, I finally reach the wall and the right statue. In contrast to the other figures that are in action stances and brandishing some sort of weapon — well, Beetee is simply crouching and working with a wire, but I digress — Everdeen and Mellark stand upright with their weapons dangling at their sides and their hands clasped to be held aloft between them.

Even though there is only a narrow street serving as the barrier, things are a bit tricky at this point since the surrounding buildings are all way taller than the top of the wall, which rules out going from a rooftop. So, instead, I run along a set of balconies on a condo before taking the leap.

I should have factored in the wall itself.

It turns out that instead of being completely flat, the marble top of the wall is angled… and waxed. Of course I do manage to clear the gap and land on the surface right next to the statue's podium; however, I don't land completely on it but at the edge with the intention on pulling myself up. Instead, what ends up happening is that I begin to slip down, with my gloves giving me a marginal amount of traction and my attempt at pulling up actually causing me to slip further.

_Shitshitshit… did not think this through all the way. Alright, don't think about the hundred-plus-foot drop to the streets. You've been in stuff like this before; just take in your surroundings. Ah yes, there's a ledge right below; it's a bit narrow, but if you hug the wall enough you can probably get it. Else fails, there couple decals here and an outcropping th—AAAH!_

I can't help but issue a yelp of surprise as a strong grip clamps down on my wrist — I can vaguely hear a familiar voice yelling, "I got you!" — and then the collar of my shirt before proceeding to not just yank me up but practically toss me onto the podium.

I lay on my back to get my bearings straight and stare up at the sky, when Dio — the kid's wide-eyed and pale except for the grass stains smudged on his nose and forehead — blocks my vision. "Are you alright?"

I wave him off before sitting up. "I'm fine. No, really, I am." I'm not even trying to make light of the situation; I've actually been in even more harrowing situations before. "How'd you manage to get here?"

My roommate seems to take me in for a few minutes before he finally relaxes a bit. "Took a right after passing the hospital and ran through the side streets. Went through the nearest entrance and ran up here." I should have factored in the side streets, but I thought that navigating them would be too much of a hindrance. Before I can say anything to response, he taps the base of the sculpture. "So does this mean that I win?"

I don't know what it is about the question — maybe my nerves are just shot — but the next thing I know, I'm emanating a set of chuckles. Before long, both of us are overtaken with peals of laughter. Finally the laughter subsides and we simply spend the time lounging back and taking in the cityscape before us.

This kid may be a bit on the weird side, but I think I can get used to him.

"Yeah… you win."

~oOo~

We walk the leisurely route back to the dorm, stopping by the center to have lunch on the way.

As we settle on the couch, Dio asks, "So where did you learn to run like that?"

I'm still hesitant to mention anything Central-related, including the fact that the technique is standard training taught to all residents of the community as a method to locomotion when the need arises, to outsiders. So I make my statement as broad as possible: "The environment I grew up in was just conductive towards it."

"Do you think you could teach me sometime?"

Normally, I'm not the kind of person who gives lessons willy-nilly, but Dio looks so eager at the possibility that I'd feel like a dick for turning him down. Besides, the kid shows me that he already has good speed, strength, and stamina. "I'm not good at teaching, but do you think you learn through observation? If so, then why not."

"Thanks!" After a moment though, his expression becomes thoughtful. "If you don't mind me asking… what's your home like?"

"You mean what's West City like?"

My roommate looks a bit confused by my answer, though I can understand why. "Yeah. I mean, that's where you come from, right."

"You could say that." Probably don't need to confuse him anymore. "In any case, I don't mind describing that hellhole. What do you think of the skyscrapers here?"

My query is probably out of left field for him, but he still bites. "They're taller than anything I've ever imagined. Most of our buildings in Two are less than ten stories."

"Well imagine a city that's comprised of almost nothing but skyscrapers that are way taller than any Capitol tower save the Games headquarters. Even our factories are built vertically. And imagine that those structures are just as densely built as any of the neighborhoods here. Except unlike the shiny buildings of the Capitol, the structures in West City are many times built haphazardly to the point of relying on each other though beams and reinforced walkways."

To emphasize the point, I take out my personal tablet to show Dio a couple shots of the city. At the sight of it, he whistles: "I could see why you'd consider running like that to be useful."

"Yep. It's one of the few things I like about the place. Though I will admit that things are beginning to get better, even if crime has gone up a bit after the Rebellion. Anyways," I state as I take my tablet back, "As you can see, this type of development tends to restrict light. So those of the upper class, mainly engineers and scientists, live on the upper level; factory workers and such tend to live in the lower level. Then there's the Mutt Food."

"Uh, Mutt Food?"

"The true dregs of society. Those who have nothing to contribute and can't find, or refuse to find, a niche. Even those who live in the lower levels view them with contempt." Before Dio can ask, I explain: "In Three, you are expected to find a role in society. If you aren't smart enough to be an engineer or scientist, there's factory work. Or you can take the support role as a merchant or the like. Or you can be in administrative. The point is that we don't care what kind of occupation a person is in so long as they have an occupation. A person who doesn't contribute is a millstone, a weak link. So they are cut loose."

Dio looks utterly mortified. "That… sounds horrible!"

_Soft and sensitive…_ "Why? You said it yourself that demanding a handout is a sign of weakness. Why should the productive be burdened by the weak? Like I said, this isn't even a class thing, but an ideal that is upheld at all levels of Three's society. And before you ask, we do look after the involuntarily infirm, disabled, and elderly, but that's the role of their individual families."

"If you were all so confident that you found a niche, why was District Three one of the first to rebel?"

I can't help but sigh in exasperation. "Haven't you been listening to a thing I've been saying? Think about what the Capitol is. What work have they done to obtain the fruits of the districts' labor without giving something in return? They expected us to be altruists that simply gave things away to our own detriment. That made them the weakest link of all; the ultimate of parasites; the millstone to be cast off." Despite my reservations about the Rebellion, even I couldn't argue with that logic when it was presented to me.

"Your district's philosophy still sounds fairly heartless." Surprisingly, and despite his earnestness, Dio doesn't sound angry in his rebuttal or laden with the same kind of judgmental nature the other kids seem to have.

So instead of dismissing him outright, I simply shrug. "Not going to argue with that. However, if it makes you feel better, it's not like we are averse to compassion. If somebody wants to be compassionate," — _like my folks…_ — "all the more power to them."

I'm expecting my roommate to belabor the point, but he instead seems to mull the idea in his head before switching tracks a bit. "So what's with the term 'Mutt Food'?"

"Because once they die or are too weak to resist, they get eaten by mutts."

Now he really looks horrified and yelps, "What?"

"Don't feel too bad; if you met a group of Mutt Food, even you would probably find them unpleasant. Not to mention violent. But I digress." I begin to rummage under my bed to pull out an enclosure. "Anyways, to keep disease at bay when the people eventually expire, we have specialized mutts that roam the lower levels to clean things up." At that, I open the enclosure up to bring out the lizard; we are allowed a pet so long as it stays within a small cage or aquarium. At the sight of her, Dio scoots away a bit, and I smirk a bit at his reaction.

"Don't worry, they aren't aggressive or even that dangerous, and Belle here is a full-grown pygmy variant; the regular ones grow to be about nine feet long. Granted, they have a strong bite, but will only bite somebody actively provoking them. Come on, she won't attack you." Slowly but surely, Dio extends his hands out; without further ado, I simply drop Belle into his hands. To his credit, doesn't completely recoil, and finally curiosity overtakes his initial terror as the reptile curls around his arm to absorb the body heat. "The mutts are based off of varanids, though I think that there's some _Corucia_ in there."

"Her scales are really pretty." He's probably talking about the patterning of scarlet on aquamarine.

"Thanks. Normally, the lizards are just brown and gray." As Dio continues handling Belle, I don't mention to him that our cleaner-mutts were most likely used as the template for the white lizards released in the sewers of the Capitol during the battle there. It wasn't even our main labs but the Capitol branch that made those creepy abominations. Yes, even we thought that they were creepy.

Finally, it comes time for me to put Belle back in her cage. "So I told you about Three. What's Two like?"

It's easy to miss, but I swear that I see Dio freeze for a second and try to figure out what to say. "It's… large." _Wow, that really descriptive._ Fortunately, he realizes how lame that answer is. "I mean that you should see the mountains there; they are as great as the ones surrounding this city. And the buildings in our towns and cities, especially Martius City, are built out of the marble that we quarry. Like I mentioned, our buildings aren't as tall as the ones in the Capitol, but they make up for it in grandeur."

"Is Martius City — which I take is the administrative center — is where you lived?"

Again, that hesitation. "No— well, I lived adjacent to it and would visit regularly. But I… grew up in the Aedes Bellonae."

"The what." I have seriously not heard that term before.

Dio seems oblivious to my confusion. "You should have seen it before the Rebellion. It was truly a marvel…"

When I still have a look of confusion on my face, my roommate brings out a booklet and flips through it; turns out that it's actually a sketchbook full of drawings.

"Are these yours? They're pretty good." Seriously, they seems to be a bit on the abstract side, but that doesn't detract from the detail.

"Thanks," he murmurs absentmindedly. "I was told by most people that it was a waste of time, but my sister encouraged it. Here we are."

When he hands the sketchbook to me, I see what looks like a mountainside. In front of it is a statue of a man and woman holding aloft a sword together, and flanking them are a set of train tracks.

Now I think I know what he's talking about. I saw it on screen several years ago being sealed with a set of avalanches. Around the same time, Gale Hawthorne was ranting proudly about this being the way to win a Rebellion. The guy seemed a bit loony — maybe it's a Twelve thing — at that moment; however, I've met him several times recently, and he's actually fairly mellow. Granted, I don't think he liked me. "Ah, so this is the 'Nut'."

"Yeah, I forgot that the rebels called it that…" For some reason, he's looking a bit pale.

"Dude, are… you alright?"

Dio just gives a small shaky laugh in response. "Just… exhausted that's all."

Looks like the kid's a terrible liar, but I feel no need to push the issue. "Alright." I shrug as I hand the book back. "Well at least you managed to get out of there in time and didn't get caught in that nasty little riot. I heard the place was a mess afterwards."

Another shaky laugh. "Yeah…"

* * *

**A/N: HARDCORE PARKOUR!**

**Yes, I imagine that Three has a slight Objectivist bent to it. And that the Snow mutts were mainly based from monitor lizards.  
**

**The name I have for the Nut comes from a temple where the Roman Senate would gather to prepare for foreign wars.  
**


	6. This is War

Another restful nap of mine is rudely awakened when some light hits my face and I feel something land on chest to skitter towards my face. After a minute of adjusting to everything and blearily blinking my eyes several times, I'm only able focus enough to take in a scarlet and aquamarine patterning before I feel a pair of strong jaws clamp down on my nose.

"AAAAGH!" I will state without shame that there was much flailing to be had, though my ye— manly shouts of pain did not come out as high pitched and incoherent. It takes several motions of flailing to get the lizard to let go, and I take a look around to see that my curtains have been partially drawn back with my roommate is peering at me from his bunk in an upside-down manner and with a look a barely-suppressed amusement. _Why, you little …_

"Cohen, you son of a bitch! The hell you thinking? You have any idea what the PSI of the bite strength those things have? I—…" The fact that Dio's staring at me, with astonishment seeming to take the place of his previous amusement, gives me pause and causes me to glower back. "Now what?"

"Your voice…"

That's when I feel the blood drain from my face. _Oh hell no…_ "Wh-what wrong about my voice?"

"I didn't say anything was wrong… It's just…" To my abject mortification, a wide grin begins to spreads on my roommate's face; that same type of wide grin that tells me that he's found something new and shiny to examine. "It's all… twangy!"

"No it ain't!" Even as I retort, I realize the error I'm making and attempt to regain control.

"Yes it is."

"No, it _isn't_."

Dio frowns and tilts his head. "Well, _now_ it isn't."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do..." The statement is drawn out in a sing-song manner that wears at my patience.

"Are you going to keep up with this all day?" I growl back.

"If you want." No sooner is that said when realization dawns on his face and — as if things couldn't get any worse, but of course they do — his expression softens to something resembling sympathy; I hate it. "You're _ashamed_. What are you sca—"

"Fine!" I snap, releasing all control of my speech in the process. "You know what: fuck it all! Want to hear what I really sound like? Want to hear how most of us in Three speak? Well here it is: in all its 'crude and unsophisticated' glory! There, happy now?"

Weariness takes hold, causing me to drop my face into the pillow and burrow deeper into the covers. The whole time, I can feel the same sympathetic look burrowing into the back on my head, which makes me want to rip the expression off the kid's face by force. Sympathy is merely a dolled-up version of pity; I don't need or desire either, and it's definitely idiotic to receive it from Dio Cries-at-Night Cohen of all people.

"I think you sound better this way."

At Dio's softly-uttered statement, I flip back over to stare at him with no small amount of surprise — it's been almost a week since we got here, and he still seems to be full of surprises — and suspicion. "What."

"You sound better when you talk like that."

"First off: wipe that pitying look off your face before I wipe it off for you." Once he rapidly complies, I add, "Secondly: you're shitting me…"

He shakes his head earnestly in response. "There's an interesting rhythm to your voice and it makes you sound unique… in a cool way. Why do you hide it?"

"You just answered your own question."

"Huh?"

"How you reckon people here in the Capitol view an accent like this? Hell, how you reckon 'upper class' people in other districts view this manner of speech?"

"You never seemed to be the type of guy who cares about what other people think about you."

"I'm not. What I _do_ care about is what people view my folks." Dio's confused again, so I elaborate: "As bad as it may be, it's one thing to be a delinquent. If you watch the news, scandal is common among folks my age and social standing, and those stories are way more 'interesting' than a kid who simply likes to treat the scenery as his playground; funny how the media works.

"However, everybody goes crazy if they catch whiff that I talk like some 'uncouth nerd from the districts'. Sounding like this if I were a tribute… well then, that'd just be 'quaint'; sound like this if I'm the son of someone important… then I simply ain't raised right with 'proper' manners or education; doesn't matter that I'm just as literate, if not more, than my peers can ever hope to be. And you can bet that competitors in the districts will help fan the media attention.

"The point is that it would reflect badly on my folks, and there'd be tabloid stories questioning their parenting skills. Things like this have actually happened before with those of lower-standing, and the result was not pretty. I don't wish to be the cause of a repeat incident. Make sense?"

My roommate slowly nods. "Yeah, it makes sense. Though it's a shame…"

I scrutinize him a bit further to make sure he's not being facetious. However, in general, it's obvious that Dio is nothing but sincere — sometimes, aggravatingly so — and right now is no different. So I decide to take the gamble. "Well, it _is_ a pain to be speaking like some floor manager from Six. So how does this sound: while I'll still speak in District Standard in public, I'll relax my speech when speaking with you. However, I trust you to warn me if I do start to revert during a public discourse. Fair enough?"

This time, his nod become eager, and he chirps, "Fair enough!"

"With that out of the way…" I take a hold of Belle, who was until now crawling under the sheets, and hold her out to Dio. "Care to explain?"

He just shrugs a bit. "Thought it be fun payback."

Dio's capable of payback? Now _that's_ something new. "Huh. I could have sworn I locked her cage though…"

"Oh you did. I just disassembled it." When I stare back at him, the grin reappears on his face. "Not bad for a 'meathead', huh?"

I can't contain my incredulity. "_That's_ what this is about?"

Yesterday, my desk chair was a bit faulty; the thing not only refused pivot correctly but also made the most annoying sound at the slightest movement. When I voiced my displeasure, Dio came over and asked if he could help. Since it would be a while till I could send the thing in, there was no harm in the kid messing with. What I did not expect for was him bringing out a bag of tools, looking up the furniture spec to be on the safe side, and proceeding to disassemble the entire chair before rebuilding it back up. That's when I also noticed that all those items on his desk weren't just abstract tabletop sculptures; they were various 3D puzzles of extreme complexity.

After he finished working, I tested the chair out to find out that the thing now worked perfectly without any squeaky noises. Just to test something out, I took one of the larger sculptures apart and asked him to reassemble it while I time; he got the job done in less than half-a-minute. Another puzzle, where colors had to be matched to corresponding sides, was finished in almost ten seconds. That's when I stated that it was "not bad for a meathead from Two", at which he pouted with the type of expression of great offense. I didn't think anything of it.

Guess I was wrong.

Part of this is downright ridiculous. I've seen how this kid endures death glares and sometimes blatant insults with a shrug. Not to mention my usual attitude — I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the most pleasant person to deal with — with his usual good nature. But apparently, calling him a meathead crosses a line.

However, I will admit that I'm quite impressed with his skill.

"Admit it: you're impressed."

Just not out loud. "I hate you."

For a moment there, he looks legitimately wounded — it actually starts to make me feel bad a bit — but that is quickly replaced with another look of realization followed by a wide grin. "No you don't."

All I do in response is glare back and growl, "Maybe… but don't think there won't be consequences."

Because this means war.

~oOo~

Swinging from bar to bar is a lesson I decide to start Dio with. In this case, we are underneath a nearby bridge spanning the canal near our dorms; bars, used for handing banners, line the sides of the structure all the way to the other end. The advantage with this location is that if something happens, he won't be having concrete as a cushion; yes, I made sure that the bars were low enough and that he's able to swim beforehand.

After explain the basic techniques and giving a demonstration of my own, I allow Dio to try things out for himself. I even give him his own gloves that he can use from here on.

So without any further ado, he makes the leap.

For his observational skills, the kid didn't seem to notice that I put a significant amount of oil on the palms of the gloves beforehand.

Good thing the Capitol keeps its waterways clean.

~oOo~

After a long day of orientation, I call first dibs to the shower.

It isn't until a couple minutes have passed that the water coming out of the top showerhead is currently pink.

After quickly jumping out and allowing the water to run its course, I'm able to get my skin scrubbed back to its normal color. My hair remains looking like it would put the plumage of our Quarter Quell birds to shame.

~oOo~

The rest of the week is just one big tit-for-tat measure, usually one action per day and of increasing complexity. Yeah it's petty, but I'll admit that there's a certain level of entertainment to be found in it.

When we're not figuring out new ways to compromise each other, we're attending the orientation seminars that are supposed to get us acclimated to campus life: Random team-building exercises, showing us the facilities and programs at our disposal, safety courses; usual stuff like that.

One afternoon, Dio actually heads out on his own for some kind of 'appointment'; he doesn't elaborate and I don't ask. I myself usually head out on my own when going around town as it usually involves finding a good place to get a drink; I actually once offered Dio some of the peach melomel the guys gave me as a gift, but he refused to drink anything until he became of age, the prude.

~oOo~

The afternoon before the day we start our first class — something about the history of the world before Panem — I put into action my latest retaliatory strike. While probably the flashiest prank to date, it's actually quite simple in execution.

So after transferring the information from my tablet to the main console, I simply sit and wait.

The moment Dio walks into the room, I turn the projector on to simulate a life-sized swarm of tracker jackers and nothing else. I've even included in the AI so that the swarm behavior is as realistic as possible.

While this is my more risky plans by virtue of the projections easily being recognized as such, the results don't disappoint.

My roommate immediately lets off a very shrill and undignified scream and tries to bolt. Apparently he forgot that there's a door right behind him, because he immediately slams right into it. Hard.

I also learn a new thing about the kid: it seems that he's capable of surpassing the pitch of a prepubescent Capitolite girl in the presence a pop singer.

~oOo~

It's the first day of class, and for some reason my alarm has refused to go off; I have little doubt as to who is responsible.

Fortunately, while I have awakened later than desired, missing breakfast in the process, I still have plenty of time to spare, so I go through the ropes of getting cleaned and prepped. Granted, the whole time, I'm on high alert for some kind of surprise awaiting me; however, nothing's amiss or out of place. It's only when I'm about to head out that I realize what's up:

My shoes are missing.

Fortunately, after several minutes of searching, I'm able to find them. Unfortunately, they are at the very top of a tell shelf; way taller than I'm able to reach by simply jumping straight up. Climbing them is also out of the question judging from the creaking noise made when I put just the slightest amount of pressure. Thing is, it's not like the kid took into account the easiest solution for me to utilize.

Except that he did.

The moment I attempt to move my chair over, it falls apart into its constituent pieces; the same goes for Dio's own chair. To compound issues, it's now ten till the start of class.

So, in the end, the only thing I can do is grab my bag and run to class as fast as possible… barefoot. All the while, cursing the name of my roommate.

* * *

**A/N: This immediately continues into the**** first chapter of _Seeds of Panem_. I also suggest reading the second chapter as the next chapter of this story will continue from there.**

**Just in case yer were wonderin' what fehlers lahk Nayd's wool soun' lahk whiuhn they speak, this is a clers approximation. Of cahs fer obvis reasons Ah ain't gonna raht it out here. **

**Lots of nasal quality, drawling at certain points, and high-pitched stressors on syllables; that's not even getting into adding syllables. The reasoning for this is that the population of Three is mainly descended from those survivors who sought refuge in the caves of the Ozarks during the Great Cataclysm; besides those who already lived there, this would mainly include people from Missouri and Arkansas, plus bordering regions (western Tennessee and Kentucky, northern Mississippi, eastern Kansas and Oklahoma, and southern Illinois). Over a century of isolation would do the rest of the work, and the vocation of the district will have little bearing on how they speak. **

**Also, despite the movie, Katniss and Peeta (and other Twelvers) most likely speak close to this manner as well; granted, being victors and residents of Thirteen would likely wear things down a bit.  
**

**District Standard would be similar to Midwestern/Newscaster English, though in Ned's case there er probably still some elements that would be influencin' how thins sound. **


	7. Backgrounds

"Alright," I growl, "we're going to have a nice long talk right now, and you're going to tell me what I want to know."

Everything had gone fine for the first week of class and things actually looked like they were off to a good start. Then this week rolled around and our esteemed history professor had to compare Dio to his namesake, who was apparently a tyrant who had a high body count, but not before confirming in a fairly sarcastic manner that the kid was indeed had a Career/Peacekeeper background; even most of the district rubes were shocked by Suetonius' manners, and Paylor ended up lambasting him afterwards. In the end, what matters is that whatever was said seems to have wrecked the kid to the point of him not usually bouncing back like he usually does but, instead, staying as a listless mess all the way up to now; I actually had to practically escort him all the way up to our dorm.

The moment we get inside and take off our shoes, I lock the door behind us, force my despondent roommate onto the sofa, and plop myself down onto my bed to face him.

"Why does it matter?" Dio mutters; the kid still has this dull lifeless quality to his voice, and he still seems to consider the floor a perfect subject to maintain eye contact with. "I thought the issues of other people weren't your problem."

_Huh, so he figured that out…_

"True," I concede as I shed my shirt and make a nice nest for myself; this is probably going to take a while, so I might as well get comfortable. "But even I'm aware enough to recognize something's amiss right now to the point of it becoming my problem. Since we share a living space, I want to know that you ain't going to go all Mellark on me."

_And there may be a good chance that you care a bit about his well-be—_

_Nope._

"Does my rationale sound reasonable enough?" At my query, he gives a small nod but still refuses to look up. "Good. In which case, I'm going to give you a little opportunity. Instead of starting off with you being interrogated by me, you have a chance to explain things on your own with minimal interruptions. Take as much time as you need."

As I lean against the wall, Dio makes no move nor does he say anything, which causes me to wonder if this whole let-him-speak-first idea was a good one. Actually, in all honesty, I don't even know what I'm doing right now. Even if this kid ends up spilling enough beans to make a good pot of chili, what am I supposed to do with the information? I'm no shrink, and I definitely know that comforting isn't something I excel at or strive to excel at for that matter. _Hell, why am I doing this? What do I hope to accomplish? Am I trying to help him or just satisfying my curiosity… or both? Wait, why would I even be to trying to help? _

Almost an hour passes, and there's still no sign of activity from my roommate. I actually have to check a couple times to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep or expired, but he still looks conscious. After another half-hour, I'm now more than sure that this has become a complete waste of my time.

I'm mulling over the alternatives — either grilling him until there are mental scorch marks or letting the officials take care of this — to my original offer when he finally speaks:

"You know… when I got here, I seriously had this idea in my head that I could simply start anew. Leave my past behind and forge a new path for myself. Once that happened, maybe… just maybe… I would no longer be a failure." After a long exhale, the kid finally looks up at me; turns out that his eyes are as dull as his voice right now. "I was a fool."

I'm waiting for some kind of continued explanation or punchline, but he says nothing else. It's a bit… disappointing. _Seriously, that's it? That's what's been bugging him?_ "So let me get this straight: just because Suetonius makes a snide little comment comparing you to a despot that lived who-knows-how-long-ago, you're a complete failure? I'm failing to connect the dots here."

"What's not to get? Professor Suetonius wasn't incorrect in anything he said—"

"He also said that everybody else also had an equal chance of becoming a tyrant as well."

"But you can't say that he didn't have good reason to single me out as an example. The other students already made their point clear a long time ago. The professor only confirmed the reality of the situation."

I'm flabbergasted. "You… you seriously think those rubes are in the right?"

"Why shouldn't they be?"

"Uh… maybe because they are a bunch of bigots who think that anything that isn't within their comfort zone is grounds for resentment or contempt."

"My people helped oppress them for at least seventy-five years. They watched as their friends and family were killed in blood baths or tracked down by Careers. Some of them look like they personally fought in a war with Peacekeepers… Peacekeepers who burned District Twelve to the ground! You can't say that they don't have good reason to be angry." He runs his hands through his hair. "Who knows… maybe if this Rebellion never happened, I'd be out there and killing people as well."

"Okay, so maybe you had a bit of Career or Peacekeeper training—"

"Both."

Dio's little interruption throws me off track. "Wait… really? You aren't just talking junior cadet training, but actual Peacekeeper training _on top_ of going to the Career academy?" His nod of confirmation makes me exhale a long whistle. Definitely not standard procedure, if the information given by those who have originated from Two — whether they are back in Central or currently working for my folks — is an indication of anything. "How does that happen?"

An unpleasant sound bubbles up and it takes me a while to realize that Dio's chuckling. Honestly, it's exceedingly creepy, especially when paired with his unblinking stare and the brittle smile that briefly appears on his face. "My mother was the Head Peacekeeper."

Now _that's_ something of note. Last I remember, besides having the usual responsibilities of overseeing district Peacekeeper operations, Two's Head Peacekeeper was in charge of operating the Peacekeeper Academy and the Nut in general. All I could gleam from her — she would visit Central every time a new set of Guardians and their families arrived to bolster our population — was the fact that she made the Commandant look absolutely genial; I also think she hated us.

"And the thing is… I tried… I really tried to be a good Career for my district. If not that, then I could at least be a Peacekeeper to bring pride to my family and retain the honor of my district. I may have not cheered for the deaths of the other tributes, and I could never feel any contempt for the other districts, but I didn't think there was anything wrong with being a Career or Peacekeeper until after the Rebellion. It as much formed the foundation of our very identity as stone is forms the foundation of the mountains.

"How could you expect the other kids not to hate that?"

I'm trying to formulate a response to that, but Dio continues to ramble on: "Except… I can't… I couldn't even do that right. I couldn't even muster up the ability to honor my district in any way, despite my parent's best efforts. I mean, yes the system we had was wrong, but you can't blame them for pushing for my improvement. In the end, I know that they meant well. I know that they valued me and were just doing what they thought was best. They had to have; otherwise they would have simply have given up. But despite all my mistakes, they never completely wrote me off but kept trying any method they could to make me better; I mean you have to respect that, right?

"But all I did was fail. As much as they tried — as much as _I_ tried — I was too pathetic to reach the goals set in front of me or match their expectations. Even after my older sister decided to rebel I was still the failure of the family, especially compared to my little sister.

"And do you know what the really sick thing is?"

"No," _and I'm not really sure that I want to know,_ "but I suspect that you're about to tell me."

"When I learned that my parents were dead, I felt nothing. I felt nothing at all. I wasn't happy that they died, but I didn't grieve or feel any sadness. But that's not even the best part." There's that damn chuckle again. "The best part is that I actually look up to the man responsible for their deaths; I consider him my hero. In fact, he was the one who endorsed my participation in this program. What kind of pathetic excuse for a son am I?"

Several minutes seems to pass after that rhetorical statement before my roommate finally adds with an uncharacteristic amount of bitterness, "Well, did you get your explanation? What do you make of me now?"

I really don't feel like figuring out all of what Dio just said about his family. Honestly, the whole situation sounds so twisted that I don't even desire to untangle that mess. So I simply forget all of that and focus on what I consider to be the most important element.

"Lemme guess: you now expect me to be so appalled that I will now go off and treat you like the rest of the kids from the district. I other words: you expect me to treat you like shit."

"Why shouldn't you?"

"Maybe because you never personally did anything against me?"

"But—"

"I think you actually explained yourself well. Now if you are indeed quite finished, I do have just one very simple question:

"Have you ever killed anybody?"

From the look of his face, I'm sure that I already know the answer before he utters it: "No. In fact, I could never even get into some of the acclimation exercises we had at the Career Academy. Because of that, everybody else took to calling me the 'Wolf Pup'."

"'Wolf Pup'?"

"I was told that I had the eyes of a wolf, but as much strength and killer instinct as a newborn puppy. Cato — you may have remembered him from Katniss' and Peeta's Games — was the first one to coin the term and everybody el—"

I don't know what else my roommate says as I'm too busy being overcome with peals of laughter. The irony of that statement is too rich. Dio's… less amused. "Um… what so funny?"

Once I've recovered enough and wiped away the tears, I try to explain without giving away too much of the punch-line: "Think about it: you get called a wolf in an insulting manner by Cato. Now what turned that tribute into a gibbering mess at the very end?"

Doesn't take long for the kid to figure things out; he's still not amused. "Why would you laugh about something like that? That's horrible what happened to him!"

I can't help but sigh and shake my head at his soft and squishy outlook on things. "If you don't get the humor now, I doubt having me explain it to you later will help things. In any case, those were some of the shoddiest made mutts made in a while; if they were able to take him down…

"But back to the subject at hand: so you grew up to embrace the values of everything that represented District Two. I still fail to see how that makes you a horrible person. It's clear that you now disapprove of the system that propped up the Careers and Peacekeepers, you are trying to become a productive member of society, and above all else, you have been ridiculously kind to everybody you talk to.

"Before you give some rebuttal, I'd like to turn this around: do you think I'm a horrible person?"

I'm honestly surprised at the speed in which he answers: "No, I don't."

"Oh?"

By now, a good chunk of the dullness seems to have left Dio — maybe forcing the kid to talk keeps him distracted — though it's mainly replaced with fidgeting. "I mean, sure, you seem to have some views that are a bit… callous. But I don't think it translates you to being horrible. At the very least, I think you are a much better person than the image you like to cultivate while in public."

I wonder if he has any idea how much that statement makes his self-assessment utterly ridiculous; probably not. In any case, I'm debating the merits explaining my own background, but I suspect there will be no problems from this kid. Besides, it's a fair exchange: he tells me a story; I should reciprocate.

"Alright, you say that now, but have you ever wondered how I was able to simulate a tracker jacker swarm?"

A little frown of confusion appears on his face. "I thought you said that you tested those machi—"

"Yeah yeah yeah…" I dismiss his statement with a wave. "That's how I was able to put the image in. But where do you think I got the footage of the swarm itself from?

"On that note, haven't you ever wondered why I'm covered in more tattoos than even many Capitolites?" I gesture towards the markings covering my torso and arms, making sure to specifically point at the Chimera on my left pec.

"I… I'm sure you have your reasons…" By the way Dio's fidgeting is increasing, I'm sure that he's starting to realize that there's about to be some uncomfortable information coming his way.

However, I simply nod in response and continue forward: "I did indeed. But, I think that instead of boring you with some long explanation, I simply show you what's up." Without further ado, I bring up the right file from my tablet and relay the information to the projector.

What's displayed is a simple, but spacious, room with various platforms and obstacles strewn throughout. Entering the room are three people — a man and two women — side by side, and in front of the two is a table lined with various weapons.

"Might as well explain who they are. The first two are Francis and Darla Woods, a couple who decided their favorite pastime would be hacking their way through several textile mills before they were finally caught; conservative body count estimate's at around forty people. The other woman is Lorene Weston, who locked her own children in her cellar so that they could easily be peddled as a constant source of income; I don't need to tell you in what manner they were peddled."

"Wh-why are you telling me this?" Dio squeaks as his face goes parchment-white.

"Just in case you decide to feel sorry for them."

"Wha—"

"Shh… The best part is coming up."

In due time, the door on the opposite side of the room opens up, and in strolls a mid-sized mustelid-based mammal. "Look familiar?" I ask.

Now my roommate's eyes are practically saucers at this point. "Quarter Quell… Peeta called it the 'beast'."

"I'm partial to the name 'Dewdrop' myself."

"But how di— wait… is… is that? No… it can't be…"

It's not hard to figure out what's reducing Dio into a stammering mess as he's putting two-and-two together. Because reviewing through a preliminary progress report is a younger version of me without the scars, new eye, or streaks of white that I have today.

Before anything more can be said, younger-me announces the commencement of the demonstration, and Dewdrop doesn't not hesitate to spring into action. The scumbags are barely able to grab their weapons when she is upon them; they barely have a chance issue a set of screams.

Right on the heels of that are several more demonstrations: a swarm of beetles that strip their targets to the bone, a colorful perciform with the spiny anterior fins capable of delivering a neurotoxin, a large elapid capable of shifting the pattern of its scales and being active in a temperate winter. Even now, I look fondly upon all that footage. Dio seems to be less enthused.

Once I conclude my little presentation, I look at my roommate who's still completely pale, wide-eyed, and frozen in place.

"So," I chirp, "what do you think?"

It seems to take a while for him to regain the ability to talk. "You… you…"

What's with people not being able to finish a sentence within an hour? "Yes, I made mutts before the Rebellion, including ones used in the Hunger Games; I also made a couple mutts during the war, though they were never used. And yes, all of the ones that you saw are mine; well, the swarm was a joint-project with the Bitch, but who cares about her?"

I proceed to explain to Dio, who doesn't say anything the whole way through, about the whole community of Central: its role in Panem, the general culture there, and the little program they had where a kid would be able to move there if they showed enough potential. I tell him how I ended up winning a slot when I was about to turn fourteen — my entry was a breed of bioluminescent darters, which are still sold as pets here in the Capitol and a steady source of income for me via the post-Rebellion royalties program — and worked on designing mutts during my stay. I finally explain how, after Paylor came to power, the mutt program was downsized; since I was now considered to be a "minor" in a "controversial practice", I ended having no work unlike the researchers with tenure or my peers in less "controversial" fields and thus had to leave Central. Oh yeah, I also told Dio that he was never to use to the word "muttation" in my presence; they can be called anything else — mutts, splicers, hybrids, constructs, even abominations, etc; official term is "contruct", but everybody says "mutt" — but never call them that Capitol-originated term as saying it one way is an utter misnomer and the other pronunciation just sounds stupid.

After I finish my little story, I see that Dio still seems to be catatonic, so I go straight to the point: "If someone were to ask me if I had any regrets about those mutts, many of which were in the Hunger Games, I would tell them 'No'. Don't get me wrong, it ain't like I want to kill kids or anything; I just really liked making mutts. In fact, if Paylor were to suddenly announce the return of the Games, this is what I would say: 'Can I have my job back?'

"But look at me now. Despite a background most decent people would consider to be monstrous, I'm a perfectly functional member of society, even where my disposition goes sour. And I am quite sure that I have no tyrannical urges right now." I steeple my hands and rest my chin on them as I lean towards the kid. "In your case, you seem to think that your upbringing has turned you into some sort of monster, even though your kill count is zero and you seem to have an aversion to the whole concept. I mean, you should have seen yourself; you looked utterly horrified at the fate of the test subjects, even though they were the scum of humanity. You have repeatedly shown this ridiculously soft and compassionate outlook towards almost everybody, even though it's clear that most don't deserve any understanding. And you still are trying to convince me that you're the bad guy? What kind of insane logic is that? Sorry, but I still don't buy it.

"I know about terrible people and monsters; I'm one of them, and I say that with zero shame. I also know this: everything you have demonstrated and stated shows me that you are about as far from evil as a person can be." When Dio decides that now is a good of a time as any to start looking back down at the floor, I release a huff of air is released and conclude my spiel: "Alright… I've had my say. Whether you take it or leave it is up to you. Either way, I'm finished."

As I flop down on my belly and sprawl across the bed, I hear a soft murmur; soft and quiet enough that I can't discern what's said and initially mistake it for ambient noise. But my curiosity is piqued.

"What's that now?" I ask while I stare back at my roommate.

Several minutes pass before he finally looks back up at me. "You aren't a bad person."

_Huh…_ "Really?"

"I don't agree with a lot of the things you've done, but I'm still sure that you are a much better person than you like to think."

_Well, this should be good._ I can feel a smirk forming on my face. "And what makes you say that? Give me one really good reason."

"You're still talking to me."

Just like that, my smirk slides away. _I… what._ Every attempt to articulate a proper response comes out sounding like a cat choking on something.

I mean, how do you respond to that?

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Okay, yeah, it's a cheap shot, but at the moment I don't have a better rebuttal.

Dio, who looks like he's about ready to expand upon his prior statement, immediately flinches and breaks eye contact with me in another attempt to decrease his profile; though not without stammering out, "I-I'm sorry. I di—"

"NO! Stop that!" If anything, the fact that Dio's thinks he needs to apologize for just infuriates me further. "Why are you sorry? I didn't ask for apologies; just silence. So shut up! Shutupshutupshutup!"

Finally, the kid clamps his mouth shut, though the sad kicked-puppy look that I now associate with him is even more pronounced than ever. I take advantage of the peace and quiet to roll on my back and pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to figure everything out.

I'll admit that shutting him down like this is not something to be proud of, but it does give me time to mull things over. After a while, and despite extreme reservations, I finally come to a decision.

_I can't believe I'm about to do this…_

Before I can change my mind, I slide out from bed, cross the room, and plop myself down on the sofa. The action is enough to make my roommate look back up at me, at which I hold my arms straight out towards him.

The comedy gained from the expression on his face almost makes this worth it. "Ned, wha—"

"Studies have shown that a prolonged embrace is effective in reducing stress and such."

Even though it looks like he understands the intention now, Dio still seems a bit hesitant. "But why are—"

"Do you want the fucking hug or not?"

I don't have to ask twice—not that I would have. Before I can even register the action, Dio has his arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace that I'm sure is not going to let up anytime soon; the only thing I can do is slowly close my own arms and give him a couple hesitant pats on the back. As the kid rests his chin on my shoulder, I begin to notice something else:

"Hey, Dio?"

"Yeah?"

"Are-are you… crying?"

"… No?" _Really confident answer…_

"Then why do I feel something wet dripping on my shoulder and running down my back."

I hear a slight sniffle. "My… uh… eyeballs are leaking."

"Well, you should get that checked out."

The body I'm being held against shudders with what I think is laughter. Before long though, it transitions into weeping; this time, it's pretty obvious what it is.

_I'm definitely going to have to take a shower after this. _

Don't really know how long we're like this, though the sobbing fortunately ceases in due time. After a while, I'm starting to feel stiff so I consider this a good time as ever to end this little exercise. "Alright, hug time is over. You can let me go now." Nothing happens. "I said you can let me go. Dio?"

The only response I get is even breathing that occasionally hitches into a soft snore.

_Oh, you have got to be kidding…_

Part of me doesn't want to wake the kid up, but I really need to get out of here. So the only thing I can do is wriggle out from under his grasp; turns out my concerns of waking him up are moot as he has toppled over on his side and still hasn't awoken from his slumber. The problem with my attempt to escape is the fact that it occasionally just makes his grip become tighter; also, for some reason, I swear that I hear him mumble, "No puppy, don't go… it's dangerous…" _Well, this puppy is hungry and tired right now, not to mention liable to get crushed if you apply any more pressure._

I don't know how, but I'm finally able to extricate myself and quickly put a throw pillow in my place; the arms clamp down on it, and I try not imagine what would have happened if they closed on my neck.

After taking a shower, I end up heading out for dinner; it's only late afternoon, but screw it, I'm considering right now dinnertime and pretty sure that I'm going to be sleeping not long after. However, instead of the usual student dining area, I head over to one of nicer establishments nearby. There, I get a nice hefty aged-steak sandwich and enough of Eleven's finest bourbon to render me more tipsy than usual before trundling back to the dorm. When I get back, I find that Dio's right where I left him, though he managed to curl his legs up so that at the very least his whole body is now resting on the sofa instead of bent at an awkward angle.

So after placing the take-out dish I ordered — just a hearty gratinéed soup with beef and caramelized onions — on a small table next to the kid, I grab the blanket from his bunk and drape it over him before calling it a night.

* * *

**A/N: The class session mentioned here is expanded upon in the second chapter of _Seeds of Panem_.  
**

**Now presenting Ned Logic! "I've done a whole lot of things most people would consider very unethical, but I feel fine today as a productive member of society. Ergo, if I can get through the day without rolling into a ball of angst, so can you!" ^-^  
**


	8. NonCons

"I want you and your little posse to leave Dio alone."

"Since when do I care what you want, Scarface?" Natt doesn't bother looking at me as he sends a dart flying towards the board; I'll admit that the former rebel has fairly decent aim. Barely a day has passed since my little talk with Dio, so I decided to nip another issue in the bud as early as possible. In any case it's convenient that Natt's here in the common room when most of the other kids are either out or in their rooms. The only other person present is Danni, who's watching us impassively; she actually seemed dropped her grudge a week ago and is currently indifferent towards both me and Dio, which suits me just fine.

The little moniker makes me snort a bit. "Real original, _Burns_." The rebel clenches his fists a bit at the nickname I created, causing the pink burn marks crisscrossing his hand and arms to be put in even more contrast against his dark skin. _Seems somebody can't receive as much as they dish out._ "And I don't care that you don't care. All that matters is that your group no longer turn that ten-meter radius around you into one big hostile zone whenever Dio gets remotely close to it."

As he prepares to set loose another dart, Natt sneers, "Somebody's feeling a bit protective over his boyfriend."

"That's funny coming from the one dating a construction worker in District Town."

The dart goes wide, but no wider than Natt's eyes as he slowly turns to stare at me and whisper, "Who told you that?"

"Nobody told me anything. It's just a case of me being observational and going to that neighborhood frequently for a drink or bite to eat." Seriously, the place may be a bit of a shithole, but it has some quality — especially for the price; just because I have the ability to splurge all the time doesn't mean that I'm going to — bars and dining establishments. "I explicitly remember you walking past me with your date whenever I have lunch outdoors at Reese's Café, so it's not my fault you don't notice."

Natt doesn't reply but appears to have a mixture of fear and anger playing on his face. That's when a grin forms on my own face as I finally put two-and-two together: "Ah… so I guess the whole thing was supposed to be a secret, huh?"

In the place of her cousin, Danni decides to answer with a sigh and shake of her head, "I've told him repeatedly that it was inevitable that somebody was going to find out, and that he might as well come clean. But nope, he is insistent that things stay under wraps and relies on the fact that his group doesn't tend to wander outside of campus."

"Because he doesn't want them finding out that their de facto leader is the very thing they hate," I conclude before erupting into laughter. Natt doesn't seem to be as amused with the little situation; I don't care and decide to carry on with my assessment: "My, my, my… This is simply too rich." I know the Thirteen view on "NonCons" — just the thought of that district's rhetoric makes my lip curl in disgust — but was unaware that these Twelvers, Elevens, and Sixes are just as bad.

"Shut up," the former rebel growls, "or—"

"— or what?" I shoot back.

"Or you'll find out just how much your money is worth when I pound your ass."

"You'd know all about that wouldn't you?"

Danni immediately barks out a laugh that's quickly masked with a manufactured cough. In contrast, it takes her cousin a bit longer to realize what I'm implying in regards to his poor choice of phrasing, at which I can see his ears take on a shade of red.

"I'm warning you, Bannon…" he grits out through clenched teeth.

"I heard you the first time and still don't care. Thing is, as a fellow _NonCon_," — even the word feels vile when I say it out loud — "I don't know why you hang out with those idiots when it's clear that they would disown you as soon as they found out."

Instead of answering, all Natt does is stare at me, with much of his previous anger from earlier seeming to be forgotten. In response, I give an impatient sigh. "Oh don't look at me like that. I'm honestly surprised you haven't made the assumption earlier; some your 'friends' already did even though they were completely off-base as to their guess. Suffice to say," I add upon seeing the unspoken query, "I'm not the same as you. Actually all things considered, I'm surprised they haven't figured you out, which brings us back to my original point: why them?"

Again, Danni replies in the stead of her currently-fuming cousin: "When Natt's group formed, he was focused on gaining like-minded individuals to lead. In this case, most were those who similarly grew up in deprivation and would possibly have trouble acclimating in this new setting, so he wanted to create the group as so that everybody could support each other. He just didn't know at the time that every kid he gained had a similarly-negative view of his orientation. However, he still wants to be a leader and is trying to work with what he's got."

I'm stunned. All this time I thought the group just formed so that they could collectively rag on everything that didn't fit their worldview; now the truth seems to be that the former rebel merely wants to guide wayward children. "Huh…"

Natt at this moment decides to regain the ability to speak. "Now do you understand?"

"Yeah… I think I understand," I murmur while nodding. "I understand that you're an even bigger idiot than I thought."

He's about to retort, but I cut him off. "No seriously; do you have any idea how ridiculous that rationale is? I mean, I get the whole 'I want to be a leader' thing. However, the 'I don't want them finding out something that really doesn't need to be a secret' bit sort of negates the whole idea."

"You got a better idea?"

"Yep. Personally, I'd ditch those fools and let them fester. I'd never let myself be held back by such filth. Find new people to hang out with."

"That's not going to happen—"

"I suspected as much."

"— and it's funny that you're lecturing me about allowing oneself to be held back by others."

"If you think Dio's causing me to be held back, you truly don't know him at all. Which gets us back to my statement at the very beginning:

"Tell your lackeys to back off with the hateful attitude from Dio."

"And if I don't?"

I'm sure what's about to happen next — as is Danni, considering the way she stiffens — so I steel myself before saying this next part: "Let's just say that your merry band of bigots will suddenly be in possession of… interesting information concerning their dear leader."

I'm not disappointed. It takes less than a second for that information to sink into Natt's mind before he rushes me with his fist drawn back and an obvious intent to cause severe physical harm. However, the moment he starts moving, I'm also already in motion.

As the fist continues on its set trajectory towards my face, I grab its owner's wrist, sidestep, and utilize leverage in a way that puts his momentum firmly in my favor. The result is Natt flipping forward and landing flat on his back… hard. I don't give him time to recover from having the wind knocked out of him but instead kneel down to press my knee down upon his chest as I draw a couple tranq pens out to be held at the ready; situation doesn't quite warrant getting a baton out yet. Despite joining in heckling Natt earlier, Danni looks like she's ready to join the fray on her cousin's side; a glare from me, backed-up with a pen pointed in her direction, is enough to give her pause… for now.

"You ain't the only one here with combat training, numb-nuts," I growl once I'm sure that the situation is now well under control. If anything, I've found that rebels tend to be woefully undertrained in CQC, which is a benefit for me in this case.

Since it's clear my previous persuasion skills went nowhere, I decide to spice things up a little: "You know what: I'd like to tell you a little story. There are two guys I know back home.

"One of them is probably one of the friendliest people you'll ever meet, not to mention extremely professional despite seeming to be an idiot a good chunk of the time. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he eventually earns the rank of Commandant, and I know it ain't gonna be through nepotism. If one of your buddies said anything against him, he'd probably just laugh it off and continue on his merry way; at the very most, he'd chide them for impolite language. He's ridiculously decent like that."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Natt grits out.

"Let me finish," I admonish lightly. "Now his fiancé one the other hand… heh, he's something else. If he came across your group and one of them called him a NonCon, you know what would happen?

"For starters, he'd probably give _you_ quite the ass-whooping for being such a fucking little pussy. Then after he doles out a set of tune-ups to the rest of your group for obvious reasons, I wouldn't put it past him to burn their houses down — well, in the case of the Twelvers, it'd be a case of burning their houses down _again_ — and make it look like an accident. He tends to be irrational like that." Okay, in all honesty, the whole burning-down-the-houses thing is unlikely to happen as the guy's still fairly law-abiding; the ass-whooping on the other hand… "And the first guy I mentioned… his friendliness ends if you hurt anybody he cares about. In which case, he can become one of the deadliest people you'll ever meet.

"Oh yeah, and they occasionally come up here to the Capitol whenever on leave." I bare my teeth at the former rebel. "Now do you see what this has to do with anything?"

It's clear that the dots are being connected in Natt's mind and eventually he nods his head.

"Good." With that said, I get off him and quickly maximize the distance between us in case he tries to retaliate. "My demand still stands."

As Natt gets back up, only to plop himself down next to Danni on the sofa, he sends me another glare, though it's not as harsh as before. "Why are you so insistent on helping Cohen? Don't you realize how much pain people from his district caused the rest of the nation? I've watched my friends disemboweled for fun by Careers. I got these damn burns from Peacekeepers dropping bombs on a hospital full of civilians. And now you are trying to play nice with them."

"Well, first off, don't think you are the only person who has been roughhoused or had people he's known killed by Peacekeepers. Secondly, Dio — who, last I checked, never was in the Games nor was he cracking skulls around the districts — is quite aware of his district's legacy. And thirdly… what bearing does that all of that have on how you treat him today?

"Because all I've seen Dio do is try to move past his district's legacy and be as nice as possible to everybody he meets, even in the face of hostility; it's really quite pitiful how submissive he is. In fact, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me one incident where he has personally given offense towards you."

I give Natt several minutes to respond, and when he doesn't say anything I shake my head in disgust. "Just as I expected: nothing. But you reward his overtures by treating him like he's worse than the sludge found in the sewers. This is despite the fact that he'd probably be way more open to you than any of your lackeys ever will. In fact, do you know that the kicker is? The fool actually thinks you're in the right.

"Look, I ain't saying that you should be all friendly or even cordial with the guy; I doubt he'll try to approach you anymore anyways unless he really needs to. What I'm saying is to get rid of the hateful glares, the audible side-muttering, and the blatant insults whenever he gets within proximity. Contrary to popular belief, it ain't hard. And if you're as serious about this whole leadership thing as you say you are, I'm sure that those idiots will listen to anything you say and follow your lead.

"Above all, I would have reckoned you to follow the lead of your former teacher. Even after being a key rebel, I don't see her being all draconian on Two or the Exiles, nor do I see her bending to the will of the rabble calling for such things as the Games' being reinstated."

For some reason, the part about Paylor is what gets Natt's attention and he breathes, "How did you know that?"

"I stuck behind as she got into an argument with Suetonius about how he treated Dio and whether we all should be coddled in the face of all that goes on around us."

For some reason, judging by the thoughtful expression on his fact, that seems to have gotten through to the former rebel. If I knew that invoking Paylor would have gotten his attention, I would've gone with that in the very beginning. Finally he murmurs, "Cohen really did seem to be ashamed of his background, didn't he…"

"Yes… he _is_."

Another few minutes pass when he sighs, "I'm not going to promise anything, but I'll tell the others to lay off. Don't expect me to be friendly with Cohen either, but I'll at least try to be civil. Fair enough?"

_That was easier than expected._ "Fair enough."

~oOo~

With that out of the way, I proceed to the next step.

_For somebody who's insistent that he doesn't care about Dio's wellbeing, and that the kid's nothing more than a roommate, you certainly are putting a lot of emphasis on making him feel better._

_Don't make this more than it is. Making sure that my roommate is no longer a pitiful sack of angst is merely something that gets rid of an annoyance. _

_Uh huh… nice little rationalization you got there. However, there's also the possibility that maybe… just maybe… you might consider him a fr—_

_Nooope…_

Before little internal debate can be allowed to go any further, I barge into our room where Dio's at his desk and tinkering with one of his puzzle games.

"Hey," I bark, which causes him to jump and almost drop his puzzle. "Your birthday's this Monday, right?"

"Yeah?" Despite his hesitant tone, I swear that I see the kid perk up a bit at me mentioning his birthday.

I clap my hands together and point them at him. "Well I got the perfect idea to herald your entry into legal adulthood."

Now he looks really hesitant almost to the point of fearfulness. "And that's?"

"Oh, nothing too major," I say as I stand right next to the kid and pat him on the top of the head; the soft hair makes it feel like I'm petting a puppy. "First, we're going to get you your first drink…

"Then we're going to get you laid."

* * *

**A/N: The term "NonCon" is short for "Non-Contributing", and is a Thirteen-originated slur aimed at LGBTs and**** asexuals. Unlike today, in that district such rhetoric is unlikely to have a religious origin****_—_ in fact, religion would be viewed just as "subversive" ****_—_ but would rather stem from the sustainable population rhetoric. Orientations not conductive to reproduction sort of negates that and would be considered undermining the state, with the expected punishment; gender-ambiguous children are likely to be euthanized at birth.**

**Even after the punishments are outlawed, the bigotry would undoubtedly stay for a while. Why would some other districts hold ********similarly-**hostile views? If it's not procreation-related, it'd be equating LGBT with the Capitol.

**Probably not hard to figure out what Ned is.**


	9. Deaf Leading the Blind

"Wait, what?" Besides that double-syllable response, my roommate is practically frozen on the spot.

"Well, getting your first official drink is pretty much a rite of passage when you come of age."

"I meant the second part."

"Oh, that. Well, getting laid supposedly brings all sorts of happiness to a person. I mean, just to make sure, you _are_ interested in girls, right? If not, that's cool, and my point still stands."

"Your first guess was correct." By the quiet nature of his tone, it sounds like this a conversation he'd rather not have.

"Thought as much. And I reckon you're a virgin…"

He now looks even more uncomfortable but still nods. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess. So what better way to herald your coming-of-age than through coitus?"

"A-and how is this going to happen?"

"Simple: we head out Sunday night, kick off your birthday with a toast, party a bit, and, eventually, end the night — technically very early morning — with you leaving with a girl; coitus should eventually ensue. Also, since we don't have class on Mondays, it's not like you need to wake up early.

"So what do you say? By the way, it's all on me so you won't have to pay a copper."

"R-really?" Dio looks up at me with wide, almost disbelieving, eyes.

"It's your birthday after all. So you don't have anything to lose."

Minutes pass in silence, and I use the time to begin working on some other stuff. Finally, the kid murmurs soft, "Okay…"

"Hmm?"

"Okay. We'll go with your plan. But what about you?"

"What about me?"

"The way you phrased things, it almost sounds like only I'm going to be leaving with a date." The look on Dio's face seems to be equal parts confusion and concern. "It kind of seems unfair to you."

Even though it's obvious he doesn't know any better, I find the statement hilarious, which just increases the level of confusion on the kid. After my laughter has subsided, I state, "Yeah, you don't have to worry about me."

"I don't get it."

"Let's just say that the desire to commit to coitus ain't exactly a priority to me." Since the expression of confusion doesn't dissipate, I decide to go all analogous. "Some folks play for the same team, some for the opposite side, and others for both. Me? Well, I ain't even in the arena."

Finally, comprehension appear to dawn. "So you mean that—"

"— I will feel no urges stemming from hormone-based biochemical reactions if you show a naked person to me, no matter the gender, complexion, or body type. Which is just as well; just the idea of that sort of intimate bodily contact is absolutely appalling.

"But that doesn't mean that I still can't be your wingman."

"Wingman?"

"Wingman. Buddy system. Courtship support, if you will. I'll help you scout out individuals, assist conversations along, and head-off unwanted company if need be."

"Oh. That sound s helpful." Suddenly that confused look reappears. "But if you're not interested in girls, how can you help scout them out."

"Just because I ain't attracted to others, doesn't mean I can't recognize attractiveness when I see it."

"That doesn't make any sense…"

"Okay, think of it this way: are you attracted to guys?"

"No…"

"Then what do you think about Finnick Odair?"_ Besides the whole being chewed-up and blown to pieces bit…_

The way the kid blushes tells me all that I need to know. "Exactly."

"I-I'm not comfortable with the direction this conversation's headed…"

"Okay, think about it another way: if you come across a well-made piece of art, you'd think it look good, right?"

"Sure."

"But would you want to date it?"

"Uh… no."

"That's how I view a physically-attractive person. Ah, I see you're getting it now. Anyways, I can also be on the lookout for other things such as personality and the like. In some cases, I may recognize somebody and can either point her out to you or warn you that she's bad news. Make sense?"

"Yeah it makes sense… and I'm thankful for your help. There's only a little problem."

"And that's."

"What do I… um… do?"

"Huh? Oh… _Oh…_ You never got the… uh… talk?" I was hoping we didn't have to get into this. I got the talk when I was real young but have since forgotten it all.

"I didn't have time for it." _Wow._

"Well, uh… here! I'll give you some info." I take my tablet and transfer some informative articles and guides to the kid's. "That should help." Though, when he takes a look at the info, a frown appears.

"I'm not sure—"

I huff a bit in exasperation. "Here's a human anatomy guide as well. Really the principle should be the same."

"Uh… thanks then."

A few hours later, he asks me, "What about talking to them?"

"What do you mean talking to them? I already told you that I'll help get a conversation going and keep it running if need be."

"But that's the thing. You shouldn't be doing all the work. Not to mention that there seems to be the emotional component about this."

"I… ah, fuck." Why does this kid have to ask me the hard questions? And it's not like anybody else is going to help him. Unless… "Follow me."

In no time at all, we are out in the common room and in front of the doorway to another dorm.

"Ned, I don't think we should bother other—"

Dio's fidgety plea is cut short with my sharp raps against the door. Almost immediately, it swings open to reveal a beaming RA.

"Ned! Dio! Good afternoon!" The weeks definitely have not dulled Delly's freakishly-sincere exuberance. On the upshot, he's pretty much been the only other kid here to treat Dio in a decent and friendly manner; granted, I think she treats everybody in a friendly manner. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Before my roommate can possibly interject and say that this is all simply a mistake, I state, "Well, Dio's eighteenth is coming up and I'm planning on taking him out to celebrate accordingly. Part of that is hopefully going to involve him getting first date. And, well, I'm not exactly the best person to talk to about picking up a girl… so… I've been looking for somebody to give him advice, and you were the first person that came to mind so—"

"I would love to help him out! And since I have nothing else to do currently, we can start right now." With that, she takes Dio by the wrist and maneuvers him to one of the sofas while she seats herself on a cushy chair facing it.

I clap my hands together and chirp with a grin, "Excellent! In which case, since I have nothing to contribute, I'll leave you two alone. Let me know if you need anything." As I retreat back into my room, Dio gives me a pleading look of utmost terror. I ignore it and simply wave as I shut the door.

With that out of the way, I now have some free time to relax in solitude.

~oOo~

"EDWEN BANNON!"

"AAH!" Hey, you can't blame me for being startled. When someone comes suddenly barging into a room with a voice as shrill as hers — she seriously sounds like a mouse about to be fed to one of my mutts — the atmosphere of the immediate environment tends to veer a bit into the hostile side. Unfortunately, Belle is cradled in my hands at the moment, and in my state of being, my fists reflexively clench. Suffice to say, she doesn't enjoy that and lets herself known via clamping down on my fingers. "AARGH!"

After barely managing to catch the lizard and putting her back in her cage, I turn to casually address the irate RA. "Can I help you?"

"Care to tell me what kind of 'information' you've been giving Dio in terms of making love?"

"Well…"

"Because I've raised goats back home and helped my best friend raise his pigs. Funnily enough," — her tone and expression seems to convey the idea that the situation at hand is anything but funny — "when I asked Dio about what he knew about sex, he gave me an explanation that sounds suspiciously like a step-by-step livestock breeding manual. Then, when I asked him where he got this idea, he told me to talk to you."

From the sounds of things, apparently my advice given isn't appreciated. "Uh… But the process is the same, ain't it? Extension A into Port B. We're all mammals, and actually I gave him diagrams about human anatomy to supplement the information. So it's just case of…" — I make sure to gesticulate vaguely — "you know… adapting to the circumstances. Right?"

"Wrong. It's much more complicated than that." Finally, she sighs and squeezes her eyes shut while pinching the bridge of her nose. "Okay, at least he recognized that emotional needs had to be met, and we still have time so I'll give the basic rundown of what and what not to do. In the end though, it will be up to him when he actually gets around to it; hopefully, whomever he hooks up with will help him along. The good thing is that he's actually a fast and earnest learner. He just needs to be a bit more confident when it comes time to put things into practice."

I can't help but snort at that. "Good luck with _that_." When Delly gives me a withering glare, I raise my hands defensively. "What? It's the truth. The kid has barely enough self-confidence to keep himself together."

"Well, I think he has potential to improve."

"Of course he has potential; it's filling that potential that's the daunting part, and nobody else can do it for him. Anyways, is there any other reason you're he— and what are you doing going into our closet?"

"Dio gave me permission to look through here for a good combination for him to wear. It's nice that he's disciplined in how he dresses, but if he wants to get a girl, it'd probably help for him to look a bit more relaxed."

Another snort emanates from me. "Might as well stop while you're ahead."

"Oh, come on, it can't be that ba—… huh." I can see Delly frown and step back from my roommate's set of clothes.

As I sidle up next to the RA to look upon the source of her consternation, I mutter, "Freaky, isn't it."

Of course, Delly's not the type to use such wording. "It's… definitely well-organized." Talk about an understatement. Dio doesn't just categorize his clothes by — in this order — utility, climate, clothing type, hue, and lightness; he also makes sure that each wrinkleless article of clothing that hangs is evenly spaced from each other and each miscellaneous item is categorized accordingly as well. All that's missing are the labels. "At least I won't have any trouble looking though here."

However, after a few minutes of search, even she admits that the selection offered is a tad… lacking. "Where are you planning on taking him anyways?"

"Stygia." As Delly freezes at my casually-uttered location, I feel the need to add, "I have a membership there which allows me to sign on an extra person. So it's no issue."

"You're definitely not aiming low, are you," she murmurs.

"Why settle for less? Oh, and don't tell him; it's supposed to be a surprise." Granted, he's probably not familiar with the place anyways, but he could always look it up.

"Well, if you're probably going to be taking him to Tartarus," — she briefly pauses for confirmation from me; at which I give a nod — "then what we have here definitely won't do. In which case, do you have any plans tomorrow?"

I'm not sure where she's going with this. "Well, we have our Human Rights class in the morning. After that though, we should be free. Why?"

"Because we're going to go shopping."

_Oh…_ "Welp," I chirp while turning and commencing a nice purposeful walk towards the door, "in which case, I hope you two have fun. Turns out that—"

A hand lands on my shoulder and firmly clasps it, effectively stopping my little attempt at escape; when I turn around, I see that Delly is giving me a wide grin and stare that could only be described as maniacal. "And of course, we'll need a second opinion on this. So come on… _It. Will. Be. Fun_."

I totally do not gulp at her statement. "Hooray…"

~oOo~

Just as she promised, and to my significant chagrin, Delly is waiting for us when we get back from class. At the very least, since it was her idea, she agrees to pay for the stuff; also I have veto power, which is a plus. Dio just looks sheepish and acquiescent as he follows us in tow towards the Northern Boardwalk district.

While still relatively high-end, the Northern Boardwalk is way less expensive than its southern counterpart. The fact that the campus is nearby probably contributes to that. In general, this area tends to cater to families and younger demographics in terms of dining, shopping, and entertainment options.

After narrowing down the stores to just a couple, we begin our little foray. It usually goes like this: Delly picks some articles of clothing for Dio to try on; he obediently complies; I veto anything shown; we're back to square-one. Usually the clashes between me and Delly involve her idea that the clothing should be fairly "trendy" and help show him off; in contrast, I maintain the point of practicality and preservation of masculinity. It doesn't help that when we ask the kid for his input, all he does is ask for it to be comfortable as he doesn't have any experience in anything not assigned to him. After a while though, we fortunately do begin to narrow our options down and notice what works and what doesn't. A pair of jeans even almost passes the test until I see that it's over three silvers in cost; I may not be paying, but there's no way that jeans should be more than a silver.

After over two hours of browsing, choosing, and vetoing, we finally get what we need: a slim dark pair of jeans — the one thing the Delly and I agreed about at the very beginning was that pants should not be practically spray-on like what many Capitolite and One kids like to wear — and a light blue sleeveless athletic shirt with orange highlights; the latter is something he can actually use when we go on our runs. Oh yeah, and we also make sure to get some protection for the kid; for that part, I adamantly insist on staying outside the shop while the two browse in the "entertainment" shop.

On our way back, I do offer to buy something for Dio to wear over the shirt since Tartarus isn't the only place we'll be visiting; he'll need to look a bit spiffier the rest of the time. It doesn't take much browsing to land on something that feels adequately practical and Two-ish, while not being stuffy: a light and form-fitting belted jacket. Fortunately, there's no argument from Delly about my choice, and above all, the kid seems to like it.

~oOo~

The rest of the week, when we're not at class or studying, consists of Delly coaching Dio some more while I either nap or go out for a drink. It also seems that my little ultimatum to Natt paid off as the rest of his group is keeping civil.

Before long though, Sunday rolls around. After spending a good chunk of the day resting, we head out a little before 1800; Delly makes sure to wish Dio good luck and tells me not to force him to do anything stupid.

The train we catch is the same that we took to the Boardwalk earlier in the week. However, we stay onboard as it keeps on heading west, gradually increasing in elevation in the process. By the time we reach to the northwestern foothills and turn southwest, glittering skyscrapers have given way to the stately residences of East and, after crossing a valley-spanning bridge, West Caelius. Even when it's clear that District Town and the surrounding lower-class neighborhoods can be seen from here, the affluence of the suburb is retained due to the, by now, over-five-hundred forested feet of elevation separating it from the main city below; the rain line itself practically serves as a lower boundary of the community.

Upon reaching the western valley that contains the industrial and transport sector, we cross the mile-plus-long bridge that effectively serves as a boundary between it and the rest of the city; at the ground level, it's known as the Capitol Gate. By crossing that bridge, we enter into Esquilinus, which is even more affluent than Caelius and considered to be the wealthiest, per-capita, community in the nation; it's also the terminus of the line. Somehow, despite its status, the place managed to survive the war relatively unscathed. Where there are not massive estates containing grand mansions set upon vast gardens, there are small shopping plazas selling the trendiest designer items and housing high-end restaurants. However, those spots aren't where we're headed.

After walking around a bit — I allow the kid to wander as he gawks at the surroundings — we pass underneath an ornate archway and come across a just-as-ornate funicular. In comparison to the various means of transport around the city, the cable-operated tram seems almost like something you'd find in Twelve; however, it's actually quite reliable, and the furnishings shows that it belongs in this community despite the modest machinery. After I press a large brass button, the doors shut, the machinery comes to life, and the thing begins its rapid ascent up the slope and past various expensive neighborhoods. In just a couple minutes, the funicular slows to a stop near the top of the ridge — down below, the city is already a complex multicolored patchwork of light in the rapidly-darkening dusk — and we disembark to behold the vast and stately complex that's pretty much luxury and opulence exemplified.

I begin to stride forward, but it's not hard to notice that there's no additional sound of footsteps alongside or behind me. Granted, when I look back, I'm not exactly surprised to see that my roommate is stuck in his tracks and gaping stupidly at the location in front of him.

"Well, are you just going to stand there like an idiot, or are you going to come on in?"

My query seems to successfully jolt Dio out of his initial state of shock and he hurries to join me at the main gate.

When the kid finally reaches me, I pat him on the back and state with a smirk, "Welcome to Stygia."

* * *

**A/N: Just because the Rebellion was successful doesn't mean that wealthy neighborhoods would cease to exist in the Capitol; granted, this assumes Coin's not the one running the show. Of course, the disproportionate-to-the-point-of-starving-districts excesses such as those banquets would be discontinued, and many Capitolites are likely to have lost their wealth. But the wealthy will still exist and now are joined with those from the districts. **

**The transition from pure dialogue to pure narration was unintentional.  
**


	10. I'm Wealthy and I Know It

As I've been told, the complex that's currently known as Stygia was originally a mountain retreat built by Gallienus the Mad. Supposedly he didn't think the Presidential Mansion was fancy enough for him, so a palace was commissioned up in the hills to overlook the Capitol. The place, which was supposedly made in the architectural style of the empire this nation itself was modeled after, was already expansive when it was constructed under his reign; he even had pipes drilled deep into ground to create a hot spring to bathe in. Then the crazy tyrant went and got himself killed, and the Dark Days happened not too long after. Surprisingly, despite the districts' habit of getting all rapey-and-pillagey during their occupation, the place was not leveled to the ground; however, it indeed went into a state of neglect for the next quarter-century or so.

Then Agrippa came to power, and she decided to take up the location as her own retreat and a place to entertain guests. The complex was not just renovated, but expanded and completely overhauled, with styles from other civilizations being incorporated; granted the practice of constructing the entire place in fine marble and travertine — of course, barring up-to-date internal systems and such, as well as many accents — did not change. Upon the former president's retirement, the land and accompanying wealth was transferred to its caretaker, who then went and overhauled the retreat into the resort that it's known as today; supposedly, the theme of the place comes after the that ancient version of the afterlife.

But I digress.

After passing under the Acheron gate, the two of us traverse the small square — most people are simply taken here directly by their private hovercraft — towards the complex of white stone and terra-cotta roofing. As we walk past the massive ornate bronze doors into the main vestibule, the young receptionist at her desk just finishes up putting on a coat of turquoise lipstick to beam in my general direction. "Welcome back, Mr. Bannon! It's good to see you again."

I make sure to grin back. "Always a pleasure, Charyl." The people working here are probably some of the few Capitolites I actually find to be agreeable and not merely tolerable; even though he's Capitol-born, Luce doesn't count.

"The usual this evening?"

"Yes indeed, and as I mentioned earlier," — Dio's unceremoniously pulled right up to the desk — "I would like to add this guy here onto the roster as my guest."

"Excellent! Let's just log him into the system first. Now, if you'll please hand over a form of identification," she states while holding out a hand to the kid. After he gives her his ID card, she asks him the usual queries about possible allergies or dietary restrictions. In no time at all, he's in the system. "That should do it, Mr. Cohen. And I would like to offer an early congratulation on your birthday!"

Dio flushes a bit, but manages to murmur thanks. At that, I cut in with a clap on his shoulder to chirp, "That's why we're here today: celebrating this boy's transition to being a man." Though I still will probably call him a kid. "So I think it's fair that we start things off with him getting the Tribute Treatment." Yeah, yeah, I know; all things considered, it's a fairly insensitive term considering the connotations, but nobody has come up with anything better to call it.

That doesn't seem to assuage my roommate's thoughts considering the wide-eye look he's giving me. "Wha—"

"That sounds like a marvelous idea!" trills Charyl. "And I must say that he looks like the perfect candidate for the process." I have to stifle a laugh at the way the kid blushes at the compliment. Before he can protest or anything, however, the receptionist makes a call to the prep team. In the meantime, I give her my communicator which she installs into the desk. Since personal communicators and related electronics aren't allowed on the premises, they are required to be checked in at the entrance; however, if a patron allows it and a call is received, said call will be re-routed through the system to be picked up by said patron no matter where they are.

In due time, the prep team enters the room to descend upon Dio. To his credit, the fact that all three of them are speaking through bejeweled voice-synthesizing collars only surprises him for a second or two. Other than the family that runs this business, every single person working here is an Avox, with most of their roles corresponding to their pre-Avoxhood vocations; even the security here consists of Avoxed former Peacekeepers. If anything, one of the elements that differentiated the place from others in the Capitol was the fact that it practically bought the freedom for Avoxes and actually employed them with pay; granted, they didn't exactly leave the premises on their own devices at the time due to discriminatory practices on the part of the Capitolites. After the Rebellion, my folks were some of the main contributors to help the Avoxes; in their case, they helped to introduce and implement the collar and tongue prosthetics from Central pro bono.

Anyways, due to currently becoming the center of attention, Dio's probably too bemused at the moment to spare any thought to the state of the prep team fretting over him. Before he knows it, the kid's being rushed towards the main entrance; he gives one last pleading look towards me, at which I simply give a wave and advisement to not resist too much. I myself get my room key and proceed on forward in the same direction that my currently-indisposed roommate was whisked off to.

After the vestibule, and past the covered bridge that passes over a narrow ravine, I pass into the atrium known as Erebus. The large space is a perfect square with a two-story structure — the second level of the structure, containing the offices, is supported by a colonnade of fluted columns — surrounding an open courtyard and serves as a hub to various points in the complex. To my left is Elysium, which we'll eventually be going; to the right is Asphodel, which contains the residences for the owners and workers, as well as a tunnel leading to the non-climate-controlled valley; straight in front is Lethe Thermae, which is my first destination. Passing by the bubbling fountain in the middle of the courtyard, I go through the large doorway to enter the apodyterium.

In general, the apodyterium serves as a transition section towards the rest of the spa and, like the atrium, contains a courtyard even though its compluvium is covered with glass. Also, instead of being colonnaded on the first level, things are flipped. The first floor, which contains the service and locker rooms, juts out a bit to double as a column-lined walkway for the second floor which has the private rooms. In my case, I get to have the latter.

The room is small and cozy with a small bed, barber chair, shower-plus-bath, dresser, toilet, and storage cabinet. Really, it's not a spot to linger about, but rather to get ready. There are also a couple larger rooms for couples as well as fully-furnished prep-rooms, one of which is probably where Dio's currently residing.

Upon getting in the room, I undress, hang my clothes outside my dresser, store my valuables in the provided safe, and take a quick shower before putting on a towel and calling one of the attendants. After getting a quick haircut and making small-talk — as he leaves, the attendant takes my clothes with him to get them cleaned — I take another shower and dress myself in the provided shendyt; the skirt-like garment serves as a modesty device — there are even weights at the hem to keep it from lifting up when submerged — while being practical and comfortable in this setting.

From the apodyterium, I enter through the warm humid air that typifies the tepidarium, which is the largest room in the thermae. Glittering mosaics cover the floor and the vaulted ceiling, while large pools filled with mineral-laden water are arranged by varying temperatures. Waterfalls that cascade down the wall help to add an atmosphere of dynamism and double as a shower when needed. However, at the moment, the only purpose of the tepidarium is to serve as a transition point to the caldarium.

Steam laden with the scent of ylang-ylang, sandalwood, eucalyptus, and tree resin billows up to greet me as the doors are opened. The caldarium is a large circular room accented with quartz tiling and topped with a dome covered in tiny windows to give the impression of a shimmering star-filled sky. Along the walls are ornate fountains set into niches at even intervals, and in the middle of the room is a raised platform of smooth heated marble.

After almost half-an-hour of relaxing on the platform, and allowing myself to practically be cooked, a burly attendant comes into the caldarium with a cleaning kit and proceeds to turn me into a ball of dough. What follows is a mixture of rinsing and soaking under a fountain, lathering with herbal soap, massaging complete with having my back and joints cracked, and a thorough exfoliation… followed by some more rinsing. All in all, it feels pretty good.

There are actually plenty of advanced treatments here in the Capitol, many of which have come from advancements made in Medical: chemical baths, blood scrubbing, remote stimulus, etc… Sometimes though, even I have to admit that low-tech techniques are sometimes the best.

Convinced that I've been kneaded enough to turn my muscular tissue into jelly and scrubbed enough to have several layers of skin removed — she even takes the time to file down the calluses on my hands — the attendant takes her leave to allow me to soak up the heat some more and rinse myself off one last time before exiting for the tepidarium. Barely do my toes touch the surface of the hot pool when the air pumps kick on to turn the water into a roiling mass, and barely do I get settled in when the help sets next to me a tray holding a platter of fruits and pitcher-full of date juice with a hint of rose water . That just leaves me to pour myself a glass, lean back, and relax at my own leisure.

Sure, money may not be able to buy happiness… but it does make the transaction go a lot smoother. Granted, in this case, my family has earned enough influence with this establishment that we don't have to pay a copper.

_It's good to be a Bannon…_

An inelegant splash heralds the fact that I now have company in the pool. And surprise, surprise… when I open my eyes and turn my head to the side a bit, I behold a sheepish and slightly pink Dio fidgeting, more than usual, next to me as his giggling prep team takes their leave… at least for the moment.

"Look who decided to join…" I grab one of the fruits to hand it out too him. "Fig?"

The kid looks warily at the teardrop-shaped synconium before finally taking it. "I've been plucked all over and feel like they've skinned me alive… several times. Though," he mutters while running his hand across his chin a couple times, "I don't think I've felt my face so smooth in a while."

"Probably because you no longer have the ability to grow facial hair. Convenient, ain't it?" My roommate actually looks more bemused and horrified than thankful, so I assuage his concerns: "Though if you so desire down the road, you can restimulate growth. Granted, I don't see why you would; it's quite nice to not worry about shaving."

"… Okay, you may have a point there," he concedes as he grabs a glass and pours a drink for himself.

"Of course I do. I wouldn't be me if I weren't always right."

Dio, dare I say it, actually snorts at my statement. However, he suddenly looks quite serious and sighs, "Why are you doing this?"

His query causes me to just shrug and say, "It pays to look as presentable as possible so—"

"I'm not just talking about the treatment I'm getting right now. I mean…" — he gesticulates wildly — "this whole thing we've been doing this past week and you taking me out here. Why?"

_Great, now he decides to have this conversation…_ Even in this relaxing setting, I'm attempting to keep my irritation in check. "Already told you before; it's your birthday. You should celebrate."

"But still… why are you wasting your time wi—"

Me slamming my glass down onto the tray is enough to silence Dio before he goes into another pathetic spiral of self-loathing. "Listen here, boy," I growl as I glare at the kid; right now, I really don't care that I've reactivated kicked-puppy mode in him. "I'm going to say this once, and I ain't going to repeat myself:

"You. Ain't. A. Waste. Of. My. Time." Each syllable is punctuated with me jabbing him in the sternum with my index finger. "I don't know where you get these idiotic notions, and, honestly, I don't really care. All that matters is that anything I do, I do because I choose to do so. And guess what? I'm enjoying myself right now. If there was no benefit to me, there's no way I'd even bring the subject up in the first place.

"So don't _ever_ tell me that you're wasting my time. Okay?"

"O-okay." The way the kid quickly nods would be hilarious if it weren't so pitiful.

Never mind; it's still hilarious.

Satisfied that I nipped that issue in the bud, I settle back down. "Good. Now just relax and enjoy yourself."

Probably at least fifteen minutes of blissful silence passes — during which time we simply unwind and empty the contents of the refreshment tray — when, out of nowhere, Dio softly murmurs, "Thank you…"

When I turn to face him, I see that he's looking at me with a small smile on his face and, indeed, an expression of extreme gratitude. Fortunately, help is on the way to diffuse this situation before it progresses to maximum awkwardness. "Don't thank me yet." I smirk as I look over his shoulder and nod towards the prep team coming our way.

When Dio follows my line of sight to see them, his smile drops away and is replaced with an expression of sheer mortification-bordering-on-terror. However, before my roommate can do anything like flee to the center of the pool, the team practically drags him out to be frogmarched back to the prep room.

Leaving me to chuckle as I finish off the last fig and transition into one of the cooler pools.

"Don't thank me yet…"

~oOo~

After getting done swimming around the last pool, which is chilled more than one of the springs back home, I head back to my room to take a shower and get dressed. As usual, the clothes that await me have not only been cleaned and de-wrinkled, but also held over smoking agarwood for a while. With everything set, I make sure to drop a couple bronzes each for all of the attendants in the gratuity receptacle — there's a console that helps me to sort and direct them to the right people — before heading out.

And lo and behold, it looks like my roommate has just finished as well, as he's waiting in the courtyard; though judging by the way he's still being babied by the prep team, he just got there. When I met up with the group, the team starts gushing about how Dio's such a perfect and polite client — I swear that one of them almost says "tribute", which amuses me greatly — to work with; the whole time, the kid's looking more embarrassed by the minute but still doesn't say anything.

The preps definitely have done a good job in cleaning the kid up. I mean, it's not like he didn't have excellent-to-the-point-of-ridiculous — it take him half-an-hour to get done taking a shower — hygiene and grooming standards in the first place; just that tribute treatments tend to have very noticeable impact. They also gave him a haircut, though it's not anywhere's as close-cropped as he used to be, and styled in a way that minimizes his inherent uptightness. He's even wearing his clothes in a fairly relaxed manner. Though…

"What… is _that_?" I make sure to point at the offending garment wrapped loosely around the kid's neck.

One of the preps decides chimes in: "With what he has on already, we thought he'd look so dashing with a bandana. It's on the house." He fans himself to trill, "The girls are going to be all over you, darling."

I'm about to say something about how it makes Dio look utterly ridiculous, but the kid cuts me off: "Well, I like it." He actually sounds fairly confident and seems to be giving a look that dares me to reply in the negative. _Well then…_

If Dio didn't win over the preps before, he definitely has now judging by the way they squeal in delight — I still don't know how the vocalization tech is able to get all those ranges in volume, inflection, and pitch; when I asked Joe, the prick just acted all smug about how a bio guy like me wouldn't understand — and say that he's welcome here anytime.

"Anyways…" I gesture vaguely towards the group. "You all done with him?"

"Not just yet," another of the preps pipes as she guides my roommate towards the parquet-surfaced lowboy talking up one quarter — the other three quarters being cushioned seating — of the courtyard's fountain. She pulls out a drawer to reveal a set of ornate crystal bottles containing various perfumes from One, Europa, and Sabaea.

After going through several sets, they finally settle on one that has prominent notes of citrus peel, lavender, jasmine, vanilla, cloves, olbinum, and ambergris. After they apply a reasonable on the kid, I decide to have a dab on each wrist; I'm normally not one for fragrances and don't need to impress anybody, but it's useful in this case. As the preps depart, I make sure to tip them each as well.

"So…" I state as I head towards the side exit with Dio following close behind, "are you serious about liking that neckerchief masquerading as a scarf? Or were you just being polite?"

He tugs a bit at the cloth to adjust it. "I actually like it. You know… I do have my own opinions as to whether I look good or not in something."

"Could have fooled me…"

"What that?"

"I said I 'could have anything to eat.'"

"Oh… Me too. All that treatment has gotten me famished. So is this a good place for dinner?"

Once we take a left and reach the end of the art-filled hall, the doors open in front of us to allow passage through a horseshoe-shaped arch and into Elysium. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Elysium is best described as a long peristyle. White columns run three sides of the internal perimeter — the other side is bordered and overlooked by Erebus — and support a roofed shelter which contains most of the dining area. While both sides of the first fifty meters of the outer perimeter are bordered with buildings of the complex, the other hundred and the end opposite from Erebus are lined with stalactite-accented arches inlayed with repeating geometric patterns; said arches give views to the surrounding landscape. The geometric theme is shown again in the orderly layout of the interior garden that is set with various flora and water features; streams connect the fountain-enhanced pools — some even contain my glowing fish — and go the full length of the garden to drop off as a couple waterfalls at the end. The most recent addition, and rising directly opposite from us, is a hundred-meter tall polychromatic stone clock tower paneled with reliefs depicting the history of Panem from its founding all the way up to the Mockingjay Rebellion.

All in all, this place is supposed to represent some sort of paradise.

We've barely in when a lady comes out to greet us with an effervescent demeanor.

"Ah, I heard you were here. And that you brought company."

"Well this place keeps bringing me back, Mrs. Borealis," I reply with a grin before slapping Dio on the shoulder. "And since Dio here's soon to become an adult, I thought we'd celebrate with style. Dio, meet Demeter Borealis: the owner and founder of this fine establishment."

"Ma'am," Dio states as he inclines his head slightly and lightly shakes Demeter's outstretched hand.

Seems the kid has made a positive impression here as well judging by the way the matronly proprietor immediately rests a hand on her own chest and sighs, "My my… such a gentleman…" However, her approving attitude doesn't last as she turns to me with a frown. "You aren't taking this boy down to that dreadful place, are you?"

I just give her an empathetic shrug in response. "Don't care for Tartarus any more than you. However, Elysium isn't exactly the best venue for this kid to get a date, which is the intention. Sometimes you just need to slum it."

Demeter still clucks her tongue in disapproval. "I don't know why my daughter has to cater to those rowdy cretins. Oh well… I guess there needs to be a niche for everything, and the revenue helps."

"To be fair, they do put on some pretty good shows down there. But," I add to placate her, "there's no better place to hang out than up here. And the food is delicious as always." Serious, it really is.

That's enough to put our hostess back in good humor. "Speaking of which, is there anything specific you boys would like."

"I'll leave that up to you, as usual. We'll be at my usual spot."

I sometimes think that there are some time-and-space-bending techniques the staff utilizes here. Because as soon as we get to our table, the utensils and flatware has already been set, and there's a steaming pot of tea — personally I prefer tea iced, but as this mint-infused concoction is also sugar-saturated, it will do — and a bowl of marinated olives waiting for us. That's quickly followed up, while we're taking our seat, with a basket of buttered and grilled slices of bread presented with a bowl of baked and honeyed ricotta.

After I get done thanking the attendant, I notice that Dio's grinning widely at me. It makes me kind of suspicious and I scowl back at him. "What?"

The kid's unfazed. "I just notice that you've been exceedingly nice to all to all of the employees here." He pauses a bit with a thoughtful expression but continues on before I can say anything: "Actually, now that I think about it — barring some cases where they blatantly aggravated you — in every place we've gone to buy or eat something, you've always been very kind. It's a positive contrast to how you usually act towards people."

I think that over a bit while I pile cheese and olives on top of a piece of bread. "'Kind' may be a bit generous of a term. But anyways, unless they suck at their job, you should always be good to the help. And if possible, you should always reward excellent service." It's something my folks drilled into me at an early age, and I don't see any reason to change that outlook. "Doesn't matter what income level you are; if someone is servicing you, you should show your gratitude.

"Besides, it's something purely practical to do, especially if you're a returning patron and they prepare your food."

"That makes sense. I still think it's very kind of you."

"Yeah yeah… just go back to enjoying the sights."

Dio does as he's told, with no small amount of enthusiasm as well. The advantage of coming fairly late on a Sunday is that there are not that many people here — maybe a couple ambassadors, a CEO, and older actor or two — which allows us to get the best spot at the far corner of the colonnade. From here, we are presented with the shining city sprawling down below — at this angle, we can even see the Presidential Mansion — and casting ambient light on the white-capped mountains which take up the horizon; besides the traffic bustling on the road, slow-moving lights across a flat indigo surface denote the many recreational boats puttering along. The choice of furniture allows us to enjoy the setting all the more, as a narrow low-slung table sits between two heavily-cushioned coaches wide enough to comfortably serve as a bed; the setup is quite conductive towards simply reclining while picking from the various small plates provided.

And quite a few plates are provided: cheese-stuffed baby squid battered and deep-fried; chorizo croquettes with a crunchy breaded exterior and richly spiced interior; puffed turnovers filled with minced veal and various vegetables; sautéed mantis shrimp infused with garlic; buttered tomato pasta tossed with parsley and truffle; artichoke hearts drizzled with olive oil and wrapped in paper-thin cold-cured ham; crisp roasted partridge stuffed with couscous and glazed with apricot… The best part is that, somehow, the amount is just right that we're capable of finishing it all to the point of satisfaction without feeling stuffed. Just as well as there's always dessert — caramelized custard spiced with orange zest and cinnamon, as well as some assorted berries to top it off — and drinks.

We finish right on time as well, as the clock is a couple minutes to striking midnight. So after downing a shot of almond liqueur as a digestif and dropping some coins to the table — Dio's about to do so, but I invoke the birthday veto — I lead the kid just a short walk to the middle of the colonnade still at the end of the peristyle. Attendants are already there to affix us with bracelets to identify us as patrons to this establishment, and one takes Dio's jacket for safekeeping, before they call up the elevator; the doors opening up from the floor heralds the arrival of the ornate glass box that we embark upon. As the elevator begins its descent, the clock tower chimes and I congratulate the kid on reaching his eighteenth.

Right underneath Elysium is the brightly-lit room containing the large pool of Phlegethon. It's a daytime spot to relax and just swim around in. The pool itself, in terms of surface dimensions, corresponds with the garden above and has the environment of a tropical reef, complete with myriad colorful sea life. In fact, as we pass the floor, we go along an alcove set in the exterior wall of the structure holding up the complex. On one side of us is the Capitol, and on the other side is a tall narrow window looking into Phlegethon; Dio can't seem to make up his mind between looking at the colorful fish or the just-as-colorful city below. He doesn't have much time to choose as we pass through another short tunnel. For some reason, the kid blinks and shakes his head a couple times as we go through it.

"You alright?" I ask.

"Yeah… it's… just a lot to take… in… Whoah…"

Even before he finishes his sentence, I know the reason behind the hesitation. Because as we exit the tunnel, twin pyres flanking the elevator herald our arrival into Tartarus: probably _the_ premier nightclub in the nation.

The main hall of the venue is a massive high-ceilinged space that serves as the lower level continuation of the footprint of Elysium's last hundred meters. The ceiling itself — flanked and held up by thick pillars decorated with colorful reliefs and topped with lotus-shaped capitals — angles steeply inward and is highlighted with a large twenty-five-by-fifty-meter window that also doubles as part of the floor to Phlegethon. Besides being able to see the shimmering surface and fish swimming around from here, the window casts down diffused and dynamic bluish light to accent the darkened room and contrast against the fiery torches set on each column; light not produced by fire or water is in the form of spotlights, strobes, and lasers emanating from various alcoves set throughout the hall. On the far wall, is a large mural of a winged goat-headed hermaphrodite with another torch going right over its horns; I've been told that there's really no meaning behind it and that it's just to set the mood.

On that subject: "Behold the idle rich…" Even as I say that, I can feel my lip curling in disgust and contempt.

The main space of the hall is thirty meters wide. The first twenty five meters from the mural-decorated wall is the stage where musicians and such perform… and with that other fifty meters as the floor where a writhing mass of humanity pulses to the beat. Represented here is a good chunk of my high-profile peers: pop singers, fortune heirs, actors, athletes, groupies of all the former, miscellaneous rich kids who are probably going to skip school tomorrow, etc… they typify the vapid "elite" that actually thrive on trends, publicity, and scandals.

All in all, an unpleasant bunch, and I'm just glad the place has its own dedicated ground-level entrances — the area directly outside is another shopping and entertainment district of Esquilinus — instead of having this rabble going through the rest of Stygia above to get here.

But, fortunately, it's not like we're here to indulge in intelligent company anyways.

"By the way, you're going to want these on:" I hold out a pair of noise-equalizing ear buds; after Dio takes them, I apply my own in. In a place like this, ear protection is paramount; helps that these allow normal conversations to be heard and are unobtrusive. Even with the buds on, and while inside the elevator, I still can hear the music and feel it thrumming in my chest cavity.

The elevator glides to a halt and we disembark to head straight for the most important place here: the bar. Which is just as well as the elevator stops right behind this vaunted booze shrine currently inhabited by the person most capable of utilizing it to its full potential.

Persephone is probably the best bartender in the Capitol and undisputed queen of mixology. Seriously, you can throw any sort of combo at her, and she'll make it taste good. The best part is that she only focuses on the best stuff — Elysium's bar is better stocked, but this one's still pretty good — even when catering to the hordes infesting this den. Fortunately, she bartends up in Elysium for most of the day until late night; then she comes down here to run the show.

As the two of us approach the bar — fortunately, people don't tend to linger here, so two chairs are available — Persephone doesn't even bother looking up from muddling some mint to say, "Word from upstairs tells me that you brought some birthday boy with you." Some else I appreciate about her as opposed to most of this city: she cuts straight to the point.

"Yep. Where else would we go to celebrate his transition to adulthood?"

"Fair enough. Well, I just need to take care of a couple of these first, and then I'll get right to you." What follows is an array of juggling acts with the bottles of drinks and shakers. Frankly, it's all unnecessary, but the people here like flashy stuff.

In the meantime, I watch the crowd before us. The nice thing is that the crowd floor is set in a basin a couple meters deep, so there's not only no worries about spillover, but it also gives an unobstructed view of the stage from here; the few times I do come for a concert, I always stay at the bar. Right now though, it's just a DJ set up, so most the attention is on the revelers instead. A fog formed by body heat and moisture seems to rise up from the dancing, raving, and grinding mass, which just confirms my desire to stay away; doubly so when I think about all the perspiration forming — many of these people actually put on a substance that makes them produce multicolored and fluorescent sweat — on those writhing bodies.

Finally it's our turn, and it only takes a couple questions from Persephone to get an idea as to what to make for Dio and, by extension, me. Fortunately, in our case, she not only dispenses with the theatrics but brings out some of the good stuff from under the counter to begin her work. Starting by using some bitters to torch and caramelize a peach with raw sugar and candied ginger, she muddles the mixture together with some infused syrups, various spices, and who-knows-what before adding some gin, apertif, and ice to shake together and serve neat in stemware.

She doesn't disappoint. The result is sweet — almost a bit cloyingly so for my own preferences, even though it's still good; granted it's being tailored for a guy who's just getting his first drink — yet still wonderfully complex with spiced notes. It actually tastes like I'm drinking a homemade peach cobbler. And it seems like the kid's enjoying it as well. So at least we got that part successfully out of the way.

Getting a girl is a bit more challenging.

Okay, it's quite a bit more challenging.

Actually, I feel like strangling the kid.

The thing is, he'd get a slew of girls interested in him in the beginning; there's practically a line forming. And I'm a man of my word in terms of keeping the conversation flowing or weeding out the one whoI know are bad news. However, once it becomes clear that it's an actual relationship that Dio wants, he becomes about as desirable as a fetus inflicted with cyclopia. For most of these people, the concept of a committed relationship is something they are practically allergic to, especially to someone from a different class level.

In general, I admittedly get progressively more inebriated as this debacle unfolds until I finally ask him, "Just one question: did you enjoy the rest of the night?"

The kid actually seems to be completely sober. "It was a bit different, but it was fun. The food and drink is good, and I'll probably come here to get a haircut from now on."

"Well… let's count that as a net gain. It's obvious we ain't going anywhere with this; so why don't you just go out and dance or something. Enjoy yourself. If you still want to get a date, we'll try someplace else."

There's no denying the disappointment showing in his face, though there also seems to be an equal measure of relief. "Alright. Sor—"

"Don't you even fucking think about apologizing," I growl. "There's nothing to apologize for. Now go on; we'll be headed out in half-an-hour."

To my surprise, the kid actually decides to venture onto the floor below and, after a few minutes of acclimating, is enjoying himself. It's short-lived.

A heated and argumentative voice tears me away from my latest drink and back to the floor. Once I find the source, I almost groan in frustration; however, I find that frustration laced with anger. Dio's currently looks like he's ready to run and hide, but being the doormat he is, is deciding on the action of just hunkering down in the hopes that the aggressor will eventually leave him alone. However that doesn't look like it's going to happen judging by the way said aggressor's voice is getting louder; judging by the accent and foreign words intermixed, this tourist is likely from Terra Rio del Sul.

Tourism here seems to be a big thing these past couple years, Other than the Capitol itself, the cottage industries of One and canyons of Five are especially-popular destinations from what I'm told; there's even talks in Three about having sight-seeing excursions into Central's forests. In general, most tourists that come to Panem aren't actually that bad, and more importantly, they bring money. However, the kind that frequent Tartarus tend not to be as pleasant.

The moment Dio starts getting shoved, I feel my hackles rising. Persephone must catch my intent as she simply says, "Just remember the rules, Ned."

I nod. "'Don't throw the first punch.' Got it." Without further ado, I run up to the railings, open the gate, and jump down to the ground — there's actually a ladder there, but this method's faster — to approach the altercation.

"Something the matter here?"

My query causes the tourist to glare at me. The idiot just exudes excessive machismo, and I wonder if he's compensating for something. "Stay out. This is just between me and this _boiola_ here." He follows that up by shoving Dio, who's just trying to decrease his profile, again. That's when I notice the emblem on said tourist's shirt.

_Oh great… a soccer player._

"Well considering that the kid you're antagonizing is my roommate, you're making it very hard to stay out, _babaca_." Hey, so I like to look up foreign cuss words. Who doesn't?

Throwing the fucker's language back in his face seems to get his attention. "He cut into my game. How is any man supposed to pick up girls here when he keeps being interrupted? Boys like him need to know their place."

That actually causes Dio to pipe up: "It was obvious that the girl didn't want to be talked to. But you just kept on pressing the issue." Dare I say it, he actually sounds like he has some backbone at this moment.

"So? They're just playing hard to get. You press enough, and sooner or later, you'll get through."

"Or maybe you should just leave them alone."

Dio's very obvious statement just serves to rile up the tourist further, and he get's right in the kid's face. "Do you know who I am?"

"A rich idiot with no day job other than knocking a ball around," I cut in. "Kid, get back up to the bar. I'll handle this."

"But—"

"Bar. _Now._" This time, Dio complies and goes up the ladder.

The tourist is about to follow Dio, but I step right in his path and give the signal for the gate to be shut. Probably a dumb idea as he's just as big as my roommate, and he doesn't look pleased at my intervention. "You should have stayed out."

I ignore the implied threat and say in a voice that can only be heard between the two of us. "Do you have any idea who _I_ am? No? Well let's just say that if I wanted to, I could have your precious team bought up as a nice little asset; you, of course, won't be included.

"Anyways, we're already planning on leaving now. So you do whatever you want; I don't care. Just stay away from the kid." I begin walking back towards the bar.

Probably as one to always desire the last word, the tourist calls after me: "Yes, run back to your boyfriend, meniño."

I know I shouldn't be goaded, but something about that last word makes me halt in my steps and turn slowly around. "What did you call me?"

Knowing that he's got my attention, the tourist sneers in my direction. "Meniño," he repeats. "Because that's what you are: just a _little_ boy trying to act big. I'm surprised they even let you in."

"It's funny you calling me 'little'." Despite the probable stupidity of such action, I find myself standing just a foot away from him. "I mean, anybody with a brain knows what happens when you take too many anabolic steroids—"

The last word barely has a chance to leave my mouth as I find my head knocked back and my body hitting the ground hard. I have to blink a couple times as I push myself up to a sitting position and ignore the taste of iron filling my mouth. When I look up, I see that the surrounding crowd's now completely stopped dancing and focused on the events at hand. Also, the fucker's looming over me with a very unpleasant look on his face, and his voice comes out low and threatening.

"Vôce vas se arrependir de dezir iso, cuzaũ."

As I wipe some excess blood off my lips, I can't help but bare my teeth and chuckle, "I've had Mutt Food hit harder than that."

My statement confuses the tourist at first, but that's replaced with an expression displaying an obvious intent to cause physical harm. In that case, I reach for my baton affixed to the small of my back.

_Welp, let's get this over with…_

However, before the idiot can grab my collar, somebody else intervenes with a punch of his own and sends said idiot to flying back. Unlike what I got, this punch definitely look like it did some damage judging by the way my would-be-repeat-attacker tries to get back up but falls back down with a dazed look. One of the tourist's posse looks like he's about to attack the interventionist but actually stops, with a palatable freaked-out expression, and backtracks to focus on helping his likely-concussed buddy out from the dance floor. When I turn round and look straight up at whoever intervened, my jaw drops.

It's Dio.

Except this isn't the friendly doormat-of-a-roommate I'm used to. The kid's standing in an primal stance that seems to dare anybody to get closer, and his body heaves with slow even pants that come out as a series of low growls. The only other movement are the muscles twitching all over his torso, especially along his arm all the way down to his clenched fists, one of which is bloodied. But most apparent transformation is in his face: from the clenched jaws removing any sign of compassion from his face, to the way the pupils in his hardened eyes have been reduced to pinpricks…

Honestly, all of the Careers in the past Games look like declawed kittens compared to the way kid is right now.

"Uh…" I state as I stand back up, "he's my proxy." In this venue, there's a no-fight rule, and anybody who breaks that rule is booted out. However, for those who are members, we have the option of defensive retaliation — within reason of course — before the offenders can be removed from the premises. The option of proxy is there for those who can't fight.

In any case, right after my statement's made, Dio's little threat display vanishes and he now looks completely horrified. I ignore that and guide him towards the bar — people make sure to give us a wide berth now — to give a celebratory toast for exhibiting such awesomeness.

Things sort of become hazy from that point on.

~oOo~

Strong arms cradle my body as I surface slightly from the haze, and it dimly occurs to me that we're in motion.

I don't remember the last time Pa carried me like this. I never fell asleep in bed when I was young; so when I'd be too tired to walk back, he'd just pick me up and carry me to my bedroom to be tucked in.

Those were good times, and the memory makes me curl up a bit and nestle against his chest for maximum comfort.

That's when I realize that I'm not actually being carried by my pa. Instead it's someone much younger, taller, and from a different district. And then the memories of the night begin trickling back, including bits and pieces of the trip back up to Elysium; while I don't remember at which point I became unable to walk, I don't recall or smell any sign of vomiting, which is always good.

Anyways, the realization that the kid's carrying causes me to squirm and protest for him to put me down. However, the protests come out garbled and the feeble attempts at squirming seems to take a lot out of me. The whole time, the only thing my roommate does as he continues walking is to softly tell me "it's alright."

So I finally give up and settle for getting comfortable. It dimly occurs to me that we actually have company — female from the sound of the conversation going; there actually seems to be something familiar about her voice, but I'm too tired to place it — and instead of going into the funicular, we enter into some sort of vehicle. However, even as he takes a seat, Dio still cradles me in his arms; any attempt to get him to set me aside is shrugged off as he keeps a tight grip on my semi-conscious form.

As I nuzzle closer and curl back into a ball, the haze turns into darkness, and the last thing I register is the kid responding to a query as to why he's so intent on looking after me:

"Because he's my friend…"

* * *

**A/N: Have I gone a bit overboard with all the description porn? Probably. Do I have any regrets? Nope.  
Also, Ned can name everything due to being informed beforehand.**

**Practically every architectural element of Stygia is based from various Mediterranean civilizations, and not just from classical antiquity, including several notable landmarks. See if you can identify them. **

**Also some theme naming going on.**

**In the wake of Paylor's ascent, one product of lowered isolationism and a need for revenue would be tourism. Though for now, it's probably only for the rich.**

**If "Terra Rio del Sul", or the various words uttered by the bully, sounds slightly abnormal, that's because it is. With that in mind, it should probably not be hard to figure out what region it's located in. **

**Even in the future, pro athletes are complete prima donnas.**


End file.
